Wolfsbane
by Jayfeattheris Awesome
Summary: AU. Martin Anton comes with a message; the Wolves are rebelling. But before he can warn the Reef, he takes a blow to the head. Now convinced he's a swashbuckling Spaniard, the clock begins to tick down to disaster."My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father; prepare to die!" Nothing is what it seems. Secrets have been buried; and the menace behind them is preparing to strike...
1. Of Children and Wolves

**Warning: This is a sequel to Heartbusters, which is a sequel to Fever.** **Reading 15 Seconds is not necessary, but recommended, as is Petra's Face is Hilarious, for plot reasons.**

 _ **Martin's theme: "I'll Find A Way"- Zach Hemsey**_

* * *

"Thank you _so much_ for coming here, sir!" the woman told him graciously, welcoming him into her home. She was a Warlock, and the pendant of the Astral Order hung from around her neck. Her hair was dark and curly, and was clipped back behind her neck. There was a man, a Hunter, sitting on the couch in the small living room.

In front of the couch was a coffee table, and there was a chair close by. There were wooden blocks scattered all around, and a toy train had been abandoned on the carpet; all the signs that a child lived here. The Hunter was sharpening his knife, brown hair swept back, light glinting off of the square glasses he wore. There was a frown on his young features.

"Holly, I keep telling you, there's nothing to be worried about!" the man insisted. The doctor smiled at him reassuringly.

"Mr. Anton, I must agree with you. An IQ test is very simple." he looked at Holly. " Your son will not be harmed in any way, and it is designed to be minimally stressful or invasive. Needing a test does not mean anything bad. It just means we want to check for deficiencies _or_ , for genius."

Holly waved a hand in the direction of a tower of blocks; it was stacked in a rather complicated manner that should have been classified as an architectural miracle. "There is something going on with him! These aren't things that normal little boys do!"

"I'm certain that in his mind, they're as normal as can be." he told her gently. "Now, where is young Martin, anyway?"

"In his room, this way." Holly told him. Howard Anton got off of the couch with a sigh, sheathing his knife and following them. " Howard says I worry too much, and maybe your right, stupid Hunter; but Martin... he's just _so sickly_. He almost died of flu last year, and no matter what we do, he just keeps getting ill."

"A child's intelligence isn't the sum of his physical health. Unless these illnesses are neurologically deteriorating." The doctor looked at another block tower.

"How old is your son again?" He questioned as they neared a door with paint handprint's on it; a child's room, obviously. He couldn't help but notice the small rack near the door, which had several thesauruses stacked on it, all bearing the markings of the Tower library.

Holly gripped the handle of the door, and he was shocked as she answered him, opening it to reveal the little boy lying in bed, absorbed in a volume of "Quantum Physics for Noobs".

" He's five."

* * *

Two Years Later...

 _Run._

That was all Variks could do. The Ketch was under heavy attack, doomed to fall. And the House of Judgment burned all around him.

With an animalistic yelp, the young Eliksni threw himself to the side to avoid a heavy beam, rolling on the floor as one of his fellow scribes was crushed under it's weight. He lay there for a while, shaking with terror, trying to recover his breath.

Variks was only recently fully grown. He'd been, much to his pride, assigned as a scribe; he was now a keeper of Eliksni history, and a writer and enforcer of law. Things were harsh in the life after the Whirlwind, he knew now; but they were even harsher in the other Houses, of which he'd heard many horror stories of.

He counted himself lucky to have been hatched a House of Judgement Eliksni. Or rather... he had. Right now, he wanted to be anywhere other than _here_ , on the Judgement Ketch.

 _Kell dead; must run._ Those were the only words echoing in his thoughts right now. He saw a shock blade fallen onto the ground in front of him. He scrambled forwards, taking it in one upper hand, the hilt heavy in his palm. He knew how to use it; he just... never pictured himself actually doing it. He was a scribe, not a warrior.

The sight of Felkis, Kell of Judgment, being blown in half flashed through his mind once more, and he whined with grief, covering his head with his lower hands. _Why?_ Why had this happened? Why had the warriors in blue breached the hull of their Ketch? Why were his housemates being slaughtered and cornered? He clutched the shock blade close, his only chance at survival, his only tool.

Suddenly, a figure appeared out of one of the halls, and he froze. It was one of the invaders, clad in blue and dark gray. Variks gripped the hilt of the blade harder, shifting his weight, feeling the muscles in his legs bunching up, ready to spring into action.

The invader was dragging a body with one lower hand; dead, unrecognizable, small, blood smearing on the ground in a trail behind it. Variks felt like he might be sick. It was a hatchling. For the first time, he noticed the pile of bodies on the other side of the hall, and he was certain that the enemy Eliksni could smell his horror as he threw the small, mutilated body onto the pile.

But it was not horror that caught his attention; it was fear-scent. _Variks's_ fear-scent. And afraid he was. He was terrified, _horrified_ by what was happening. The invader came closer, growling, almost laughing to himself. He didn't see Variks behind the pile of rubble, but he could smell him.

Variks, scribe of Judgment, lept. The invader, not having seen him, attempted to defend himself, but the shock blade peirced his armor, the honed edge going straigth through and through his chest, sticking out his back. He let out a shocked, horrible rasping sound. Looking into his eyes, Variks felt an anger like nothing he'd ever felt before, like something... dark, whispering to him from the shadows, feeding the flames of his rage. His blood-rage.

"Judgment," he told the enemy that had murdered his housemates, words slow and loaded with hatred, "has been passed."

He pulled the blade out, and let the blue-clad murderer fall to the floor with a terrible gasp, clutching at the wound with all four hands. Variks glared down at his would-be murderer as the blood rage faded. But the whispers from the shadows didn't. They seemed to goad him on, beg the rage to return, encourage mindless violence.

He looked down at the shock blade, the blood on his claws, then at the pile of bodies, then at the beam that had nearly crushed him, killing another scribe instead. One hand still stuck out of the pile of debris, blood pooling around it. He let out a choked sob. All the death-scent was just too much.

He threw the shock blade away from himself, scrambling backwards, falling to the floor. he backed himself up against the wall, trying to calm himself. He'd gotten rid of the blade, but the blood-scent was still thick in the air. The death-scent tainted the home-scents of the Ketch he'd been raised on. He couldn't smell anyone familair; just blood and death, blood and death, all covering up any familiarity, with the shadow-whispers screaming in his ears the whole time.

He clawed at his head with his lower hands, trying to banish the voices, trying to block out the smells. He looked up again, at the dead invader he had killed, and then shut his eyes tight, a low, grinding noise in his throat. _Why?_ He sobbed mentally again.

Why were these strange Eliksni killing his House?

* * *

 **Welcome one welcome all, to Wolfsbane!**

 **Before we begin, here are some refreshers on certain statuses in this AU:**

 *** People have normal lifespans. Therefore, Saladin's generation of Iron Lords perished 20 years before Fever. Twilight gap took place 9 years before Fever.**

 *** Ghosts can only revive once or twice per Guardian. Thus, Crucible is don with dummy bullets that release a level of sedative based on where they are hit, and Guardians are knocked out for several seconds to symbolize 'death'. In Iron Banner, however, these bullets are mixed with a nerve toxin that simulates actual bullet wound pain.**

 *** The events of The Dark Below took place one year before Fever.**

 *** The Iron Wolves perished at Twilight Gap.**

 *** Tevis is _not an old guy_ ; his voice was permanently damaged after he was forced to inhale acidic vapors laced with Darkness.**

 *** Visions and prophetic dreams do _not_ haunt the Reefborns.**

 *** There is a psychotic assassin on the loose. Like you need any reminding.**

 **Okay, so here we begin. This fic is going to be significantly different from my others; it is not part of the main trilogy(Fever, Heartbusters, Taken King fic). This is where, like with 15 Seconds, we shift the spotlight onto some of the other characters. If this prologue wasn't a big enough hint, we'll be focusing some on Martin and Variks.**

 **I've been waiting a long time to finally focus my full efforts on this story in particular, because this is really the launching point of all things to come. We're all, as writer and readers, about to explore a new cast of some very complex characters that I've been molding since before even Fever was finished!**

 **There's not going to be as much Silverhawk in this as the other fics, but there will still be Silverhawk. it's going to be weird for me, writing so little for her. But I think you guys are going to love the stuff she does in this fic anyway.**

 **Anyway, enjoy this first chapter, I'll be posting some time next week or afterwards(probably afterwards). Let me know how much you liked these little snippets of Martin and Variks' pasts! What are you most eager to explore here? The Reef? The bombshell I'm dropping on you all in chapter three? Meeting Padfoot at last?**

 **Or the mysterious enigma that is Lyse?**

 **Next Time: Martin uses his head(ha!), Uldren meets the team, and Padfoot WILL, _RESTORE HIS HONOR_!**

 **Cheers!^^**


	2. Of Padfoot and Warlocks

**Tay's theme: "GKpeople"-Hiroyuki Sawano (because this is totally the music that will play when she's fought)**

* * *

Martin clutched the controls, taking deep breaths, as he sped through open space, following the flight path that would take him to the Reef. _Calm yourself, Martin. Remember what the Queen said._

As the Awoken hastily spirited the royal family away to the safety of the Reef after the assault on the Black Garden, the Queen had bade them a hasty goodbye, stating that they were welcome at the Reef. She probably hadn't known her brother, Prince Uldren, had threatened Martin's best friend, Silverhawk, with death if she ever set foot in the Reef.

But he'd never mentioned that threat being extended to Martin. Of course, it could have been implied, and he may have just missed it. But surely, the Queen wouldn't let her brother kill him? She'd said they were welcome in her realm, after all...

His nerves seized hold of him, and his breaths turned shaky. He caught a flash of white out of the corner of his eye, and Peppermint leapt up into his lap, the weight of her paws on his legs making him feel just a little bit better. She mewed up at him, and he reached down to rub her under the chin obligingly, trying to focus on the feeling of soft fur beneath his fingers.

After all these years, the gift kitten of Tevis, delivered by Andal Brask, was a kitten no longer, and served a double purpose as a therapy animal. She was at his side during his sick days, and kept him calm(mostly) when he was flying.

"We'll be okay, Peppermint." he was certain he was trying to reassure himself more than he was the cat. "We're welcome in the Reef."

He swallowed hard. He remembered Mars, when he'd tried to get some Clovis Bray tech. He remembered running into a Cabal lookout at the edge of a river. He remembered running for the entrance as it began to crumble away from the cliffside, a steel cable snapping across his chest.

He remembered getting sucked down below the water, blacking out momentarily as his head struck something hard. He remembered clawing for the surface, coughing and gasping as his head met air. He remembered diving below again, finding the limp form in the water, sinking to the back of the lookout. He remembered pulling her to the surface, dragging her through the water, liquid trickling from her mouth as he brought her to shore, the struggle to restore her breathing that followed.

Momentarily letting go of the controls completely, Martin gathered his cat up in his arms, letting warm white fluff press against his face. _That won't happen again. There are no rivers in the Reef. Well, I suppose there are particle rivers of electro-emissions from-_

A beeping alerted him to the fact that they were approaching the asteroid belt, and he stopped hugging his pet. He dropped out of high-speed travel, and the strange purple mist of the Reef greeted him.

Petra Venj wasn't in danger from drowning anymore. Now, she was in danger from a threat that came from within. The House of Wolves reborn wasn't as reborn as they had thought; him and Silverhawk had caught a Vandal with the royal crest on his armor having a nice chat with a free Wolf Baron.

The Wolves of the Reef were traitors. Or, at least, some of them were. Which put a lot of people in danger, Petra maybe being the least among them, from a ranking point of view. The Queen and her brother, as well as Martin's Fallen friend in the House of Judgment, Variks, would likely be the most prime candidates for assassination.

He swallowed hard again.

"We could see Petra again. Won't that be fun?" he asked. He got a meow in response, and Peppermint curled up in his lap, licking one paw, as he drew closer to the asteroids. He shivered, shutting his eyes tight briefly as he approached.

 _Please,_ please _don't let me crash!_

* * *

It had been a little over three weeks since the Della Tay scare. Uldren felt stress plucking at his insides just being away from Mara's side. She was still limping slightly, thanks to Tay, the Vex, and some very... _rowdy_ velociraptors that the Vex had set on her in the Black garden. _Honestly, what is she thinking, having me run fool's errands when Tay could come back at a moment's notice?_

Mara had decided that the 'Skolas problem', as she referred to it, could use a Guardian's touch. At his protest, she'd stated that, as he was spending all of _his_ time guarding _her_ , with the high level threat of Tay still on the priority list, they needed extra hands with guns. Hands capable of ripping Skolas apart with Light.

So, according to Petra Venj, the Last City had sent a Hunter, and at the last moment, though it was not official, a Warlock. At hearing this, he wanted to scream and throw the report across the room.

A Hunter and a Warlock. Aka... most likely Silverhawk and Martin. Technically, they had more experience with working with the Reef than most Guardians, it would make sense, tactically, to send them.

If it _was_ them...

He didn't care how big a threat Della Tay was; he was throwing himself out an airlock. He _could not_ deal with Silverhawk again. They had arrived this morning; at least, the Hunter had, anyway, according to one of his Crows. He'd groaned when he heard the Hunter was a woman. _Silverhawk for sure!_ He'd mourned internally. It had to be her, by way of convenience.

Mara wanted him to go over all the information they had about the reborn House of Wolves with Petra and the Guardians, which was why he was down at the Vestian outpost instead of at his sister's side, where he was _supposed_ to be.

Taking a deep breath and crossing his fingers, hoping above hope that it wasn't Silverhawk and Martin, Uldren stepped into the War Room.

The first thing he noticed, with a flash of relief, was that Petra was there. At least, if it was the idiot duo, he would have _one_ sane person on his side. The second thing he noticed, was that there was a noticeable lack of a bright red fedora in the room.

The third thing he noticed was the woman Petra was with.

She was tall, with jet black, waist-length hair, bangs braided and running along the side of her head to meet and trail down in one long braid running down her back with the rest of her loose hair. She was, he noticed with surprise, an Awoken. He'd yet to meet any Awoken Guardians. Her robes were a deep, rich, sapphire blue, with black laced with golden triangles running down the middle of her torso and back. There was... a _katana_ , of all things, strapped at her waist, and a pulse rifle of some sort strapped to her back, looking as if it had seen better days.

Wait... was that a set of _shurikens_ dangling from a string around her neck?

Her face was smooth, elegant, and serious-looking, with high cheekbones and a very Native American appearance all about her features. Except for her eyes. She turned to lock gazes with him as he entered the room, and gold met fire.

For that was the best word to describe her eyes. Fire. It was like looking into a raging wildfire, burning and glowing ambers and golds with flecks of red embers that were barely noticeable but there all the while. It was like no other pair of eyes he'd ever seen before. Some Awoken had amber or orange, sometimes red eyes, gold was a color generally unique to his family, but this woman's eyes were... unnatural.

"So the Prince decided to show after all." she commented wryly, without one drop of humor in her voice. Her fire-like eyes seemed to pin him to that spot, that plane of existence; right there, standing in the doorway. Her voice was strong, but slightly raspy in some way, though it was barley detectable. An old injury, perhaps? She was certainly old enough for it, in her line of work; she looked to be about his age, and being a Guardian was considerably more dangerous than being a Crow, from what he'd seen and heard.

"Prince Uldren." Petra greeted, giving a small bow. She gave a small gester to the Warlock beside her, as if to introduce her, but the woman held up her hand swiftly, like justice.

"I introduce _myself_ , and when _I_ want to. All we're missing now is Rogers, and that...Fallen _thing_ of yours." Uldren decided that, whomever she was, he didn't like the way she was talking about Variks, for that was the only one she _could_ be talking about, judging from the context of her speech. He didn't know the Fallen scribe personally, but he certainly had his uses, and had, as such, earned Uldren's respect in the same way Petra had.

"Variks is not a _thing_." Petra asserted, looking miffed. The woman, whom in his head he referred to as "glaring dragon-lady of fiery death and despair", disregarded this as one would the babbling of an annoying younger child.

"Prince Uldren." he heard a meaningful semi-cough from behind him. He turned to see Variks, and suddenly realized he was blocking the way in for the scribe. He hastily backed out of the way, and the scribe entered, giving a small bow in Uldren's direction. Behind him followed a second figure that he almost missed.

She carried herself as if she were trying to make herself seem as unnoticeable and unimportant as possible, shoulders hunched slightly, wearing the hood of her cloak indoors, and not meeting his gaze as he took her in for the first time.

This was the Huntress the Last City had sent them. She wore a combination of green and brown camo armor. She wore a bronze-colored cloak that tapered to a narrow edge off to one side, with a metal bar of some sort coming out the back, and snaking around the front of her neck before ending at her opposite shoulder.

She had an abundance of knives on her person as well. He could at least thirteen visible blades on her person within the first few seconds of looking at her. She was someone who clearly liked sharp objects; more specifically, _throwing_ them at things, judging by the fact most of the knives he saw were styled for throwing.

Other than that, the only other weapon he could see was a hand cannon, strapped to her upper leg and obviously lacking love in favor of the three rather wicked-looking large throwing knives strapped where the gun would normally have been placed on a Guardian's hip.

He couldn't be sure, since her hood was up, but her hair seemed to be a pale, mousy, cream-like sandy-blond color, and her skin was a pale color, marking her as human. She glanced up at him once, and he saw that her eyes were a rather interesting crystal-like silver-blue color.

Then she looked back down at the ground, and took a place farther back in the room, away from the others, her Ghost following her. Uldren closed the door as she and Variks got settled in, the scribe distancing himself from the fire-eyed Awoken Warlock.

"All right, that makes all of us then." Petra clapped her hands together in anticipation, looking eager to start the hunt. "I understand that a _few_ introductions are in order. You all know who I am of course, and honestly, if you don't recognize the Prince then you seriously _need_ to get out more."

"This is Variks, with the House of Judgment; he'll be working the comms with me, and will supply information about the Fallen as need be." she introduced. The scribe nodded, seeming unsure as to what he was supposed to do now that Petra had introduced him.

"Variks, Uldren, this is-"

"Padfoot." She was cut off by the Hunter's Ghost, who was dark brown with white stripes running up to the "brow" points on his shell along the middle of the top and bottom triangular nodes. He repeated himself with a spin. "My name is Padfoot. 'Pads', for short if you must. My Guardian is Sierra Rogers, and she's all glum about this. Personally, I'm actually quite a bit excited."

Uldren blinked, surprised, and when he looked at her, he saw that Petra was having a similar reaction. _Do Ghost's normally speak for their Guardians like that?_

"All...right then. Padfoot and Rogers. They'll be working in the field with... er, our other friend here." Petra continued, gesturing to the Warlock.

"Lies." she stated, crossing her arms. Uldren blinked, confused.

"She _is_ telling the truth, yes? I hear no lies in Petra's words." Variks commented, sounding confused. He flinched as the Awoken turned the full, fiery force of her glare on him.

"L-y-s-e. Lyse. That's my name, _Fallen_ , not an accusation." she sneered.

"Ah." the scribe stood back, before addressing her again. "But, if it is spelt that way, it would be pronounced 'lice', yes?"

"IT'S 'LIES' YOU COCKROACH! 'LIES'! REMEMBER IT!"

 _GOOD GRIEF! What is it with this woman!?_ Her shout made them all jump, and Variks nearly tripped. Petra looked startled, and maybe a little wary of the Warlock. Rogers jumped at least three feet into the air, and he did a double take as a glint of silver caught his eye.

"Rogers." he said warningly. She'd taken out one of the long throwing knives at her side, and was fingering it as if she'd been about ready to throw. He made a quick mental note about how quick she was to her blades. She looked at him, blinked rapidly, then sheathed her knife, lowering her gaze once more, and seeming to try and retreat further into herself as all eyes went to her.

It was clear to him now that, whomever Rogers was, she was either hiding something, or deathly shy. She glanced up at them all once more, before looked back down. After a while, she made an odd 'go on, then' kind of gester, and Petra turned back to cast a one-eyed glare at Lyse.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't insult the people you're going to be working with, Lyse." she said. "And make an effort to be more calm around Rogers. No-one wants to see you with a knife sticking out of your face"

 _Actually, I think I kind of do._

"I'm not taking orders from a disgraced, one-eyed emissary. Why should I obey someone who got nine of my fellow guardians killed?" Lyse sneered. _Oh, she did NOT just go 'there'!_ He thought as Petra tensed. Petra had learned from her past mistakes, and proven herself better for it. She had more than earned her post at home with her actions during and after the disease crisis. And even _he_ wouldn't go so low as to make sharp comments about her... eye problem.

"Then you'll be taking orders from me." He leered in her direction. He felt like she was trying to scorch him with her eyes when she met his gaze.

"There's only one man I take orders from." She stated challengingly. He was almost starting to wish it _was_ Silverhawk and Martin; at least _that_ Warlock was more submissive, albeit useless.

"Well, he ordered you to come to the Reef, therefore, by extension, he ordered you to obey whoever was put in charge of you." Rogers' Ghost spoke up. He thought the tiny being might burst into flame as Lyse turned the full force of her glare on him. "So you really should listen to Uldren and Petra, I think."

 _Hm. Strange Ghost._ He thought as Rogers reached up a hand to pull him out of sight, one hand on the hilt of a knife, silver-blue eyes cast warningly in Lyse's direction. His experience with Ghosts as individuals was very limited, but he'd never seen or heard of one sassing a Guardian like that. Let alone a Guardian that didn't belong to them.

Lyse sneered at him, but said nothing more. Uldren decided to get the debriefing over with as fast as he could, and tossed a data pad onto the table.

"This," he said, "is all we have on the reborn House of Wolves. Rogers, Lyse, your Ghosts will have access to it at their leisure once they're in our system."

Padfoot floated across to the table, Rogers reaching out to stop him, only to pull back and pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation. The little brown robot scanned the pad quickly, and looked up at Uldren.

"This," he said, "is the tiniest file, I have ever seen."

"We've been… busy." He told Padfoot vaguely. He'd had his Crows mostly focused on looking out for Tay. He had, over the last few weeks, tightened security tenfold on the palace. The Vestian outpost had been hastily established as a launching point for the Wolf campaign, and a checking station to keep an eye out for threats near the edge of the Reef.

Upon returning to the Reef after rescuing Mara, Uldren had had little time to get his wounds tended to; he'd been pounded with duty after duty, with a throbbing headache to boot. Petra Venj, had, yet again, proved her worth in the situation.

However, he'd discovered that, while they were gone, she'd had Variks locked up under the suspicion that he'd been in on the attack, though he'd suffered a concussion from the initial blast. The Emissary had taken no chances, but her suspicions were proved false, by Mara's testimony and Variks'(albiet slightly slurred, due to the concussion; he'd even occasionally go off in his native language, at which point they'd had to bring in a translator) re-accounting of the incident.

During this _very patient_ 'interrogation', the concussed scribe had let slip that he'd discovered Skolas was alive. Everyone present had immediately been forced to take a vow of silence on the matter. This was a problem that had to be solved quietly, with out the Reef Fallen knowing what was happening.

Another reason he'd tightened security, with more Awoken guards than Fallen. He didn't trust anyone, if word did slip to them that Skolas was freed. So far, Variks was the only Fallen in the Reef to know of Skolas's return. Not even his two lone housemates, Havicks and Korik, knew.

Almost literally, as soon as Tay's initial threat was gone, they'd had another bombshell thrown at them. The Reef's problems were pileing up, and Uldren and the Paladins had been busier than ever since then. On that note, it made sense to have hired these Guardians. Padfoot's shell twisted.

"I'd imagine so. You know, this kind of reminds me of that one time, with the Cabal Centurion." he started, turning to Rogers. "Remember that, Sierra? Ha, I'll never forget the look on his face when you popped his helmet off _and_ shot the data bank _I was trying to hack_ at the same time."

Rogers let out a breathy sigh between her teeth that clearly told the Ghost had been bugging her about this particular incident. Padfoot turned back to Uldren.

"She really has a problem with me hacking while she's shooting. I told her it _might_ be important, but noooo, apparently Zavala's evac order was so much more important, especially when she's never listened to an evac order in her entire-hey!" He was cut off as Rogers stomped forwards and snatched him, red in the face. She marched out the door, slamming it behind her.

"Excuse me, we're in the middle of a meeting here!" Uldren exclaimed in exasperation. So, perhaps Rogers _could_ be as bad as Silverhawk. _Well, maybe not_ as bad _; her Ghost's done most of the talking._ A great and blessed change from Silverhawk's constant chattering.

Though he could easily imagine her saying some very sharp things to the little robot out in the hall. He thought he could hear muffled protests. Uldren glared at her as she reentered the war room, still quite red, and trying to look ahead with at least one iota of dignity. Padfoot floated in behind her, grumbling under his breath, and dissipated, most likely fusing into his Guardians armor, as she took her place at the back of the room again.

"Try to keep your rouge Ghost under control, Rogers." Lyse sneered. _Damn!_ He knew what was coming before it happened. Padfoot materialized again, shell twisting angrily.

"Rouge Ghost!? What's all this about a 'rogue' Ghost!?" he bristled furiously. "I'll rogue you!"

Rogers, witheringly, gripped the tiny being in her fist, looking like she might want to sink into the void itself, casually holding him back while he tried to fly at Lyse. Uldren had been slammed by a Ghost before, in the Black Garden; a rather pointy-shelled, sharp-tounged little thing by the name of Bessy.

Surprisingly, it actually hurt a lot. If they flew at you hard enough, it was almost like being shot or hit with a rock. Rogers drew him back("Let me go! Lemme at 'em!") and pulled her cloak around, wrapping him up in it and crossing her arms around him to make sure he didn't escape. If she wasn't embarrassed before, Hunter Rogers was now completely mortified.

He was just as eager to get this debriefing done as she was, so he decided to spare her further shame. After all, Padfoot had disrupted the meeting enough as it was; Uldren was really too much pressed for time to incite a full-blown 'flurry', as it was called when a Ghost started slamming people repetitively. The paperwork involved wasn't worth it, let alone the blow to his dignity.

"Our first priority is locating Skolas exactly." he said, ignoring the muffled ranting that could be heard from Rogers' cloak("I _WILL_ DEFEND MY HONOR!"). "After that, the Silent Fang will have to be targeted. We don't want them here at the Reef trying to get at our commanders; we have enough problems as it is."

"What of their other hierarchy? The Barons, Archons? Do they have a Prime that we know of?" Petra questioned. Variks shook his head.

"No information suggests they have retrieved a Prime. If they do, a Prime would be very... noticeable, yes? Would be no trouble finding it." he told them. He flinched as Lyse turned her gaze on him.

"Noticeable how?" she grunted.

"Primes give off energy emissions; anomalous readings, as they break down materials for ether." He explained. "And where there is Prime, there is Archon, yes? Would... what is that... _metaphor_? It is about killing birds..."

"Killing two birds with one stone?" Padfoot offered, poking out of Rogers' arms slightly. He gave a muffled protest as she pulled the cloak over him again.

"Yes, yes that is the one. I think so." Variks nodded uncertainly.

"I have several Crows out searching for him. If they find him, we'll know the instant they catch sight of his miserable hind end." Uldren informed then, sneering. _Skolas. We should have killed him when we had the chance._

He hadn't the fuzziest idea as to what in _the world_ had possessed his sister to give _Skolas_ to the Nine... _It wasn't as if_ I _knew where the Nine's borders were! It was their own fault for not setting up a perimeter!_

"How the heck did Skolas escape, and who by Crota's hind end was the one in charge of keeping him contained?" Lyse asked rudely. Oh, the Nine; Uldren's favorite subject.

"My sister _gave_ him to the Nine because of a 'supposed' breach on their borders. As if anyone knew they _had_ borders in the first place." Uldren told her, looking her in the eye. Now that he was growing accustomed to the strange coloration, her gaze wasn't nearly as shocking, though he still got the feeling she might be able to _literally_ scorch him with her eyeballs.

"A 'supposed' breach caused by _you_?" Either she was smarted than she looked, wanted to pick a fight... or there really was something about that statement that was right to set off the little red flags in his head.

"And how would _you_ know who caused the breach?" he challenged.

"Intuition." she answered vaguely. He regarded her with narrowed eyes, still suspicious.

"I would be more concerned with how he escaped... _them_." Petra put in with a small shudder.

"We can worry about that, _after_ Skolas is dead." Uldren told her, straightening himself. "For now, the Guardians can get... settled in. Not too settled, mind you; if it were up to me, neither of you would be here. You have your information; now wait until it's time to fight."

With that, he turned and opened the door, stepping out into the hall before anyone else could get a word in. _Time to return to where I should_ really _be._

At Mara's side.

* * *

The Prince wasn't what either of them had expected, in all honesty. Sierra could see him now, waiting and seething with impatience as he snapped at someone on the other line of a communications terminal of sorts.

They'd both heard the horror stories, of course. An Awoken Prince with a nasty temper towards Hunters and Guardians in general; which was somewhat ironic, considering she'd thought he was a fellow Hunter when she first walked into the war room. Of all they'd heard of him, a Hunter-escue Awoken with his hair tied behind his head messily, bangs escaping it, was the last thing she'd expected.

 _Though I suppose they were right about the constant sneer._ One would almost think he and Lyse were kin, the way they both seemed to leer at everything.

"So... whatever happened to 'getting it done quickly', hmm?" Padfoot asked slyly from her left. She ignored him, still peeved at his behavior in the war room. _Whatever happened to 'don't attract attention to us', hmmm?_ She mocked mentally.

"Hmm, could you _actually_ be taking my advice about seeing this as a fresh start?" he pondered out loud. She continued to ignore him. The last thing she wanted was for him to know he was right.

Out here, at the Reef, nobody knew about what was wrong with her. To those she would fight alongside, except maybe Lyse, she was just as equal a warrior as they were in every aspect. At least, for a while, anyway. Perhaps if she could prove herself before they judged her for one silly little disability? She found herself snorting outloud at the thought.

 _No way_ that _will ever happen; they'll find out long before our first mission._ Besides, it would probably be wise to tell them about it before she went into the field. After all, there would probably come a point where Padfoot would be too busy to help her. He'd be hacking something and unable to do what she needed him to...

The prince yelled angrily at whoever he was talking to. It was actually kind of funny, seeing him angry. She let out an amused snort. He slammed something on the communication port, ending the conversation. Turning away, he double-took, catching sight of her, and she froze, panic gripping her.

 _Please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me..._ She silently begged him. She suddenly realized she was staring, and gave a small, hesitant wave to try and make things a little less awkward, before turning away and heading back the way she had come, face turning hot, heart pounding.

Oh, how she _hated_ the beginning! The beginning was always the hardest, before everyone found out. Afterwards, she'd let the flames of defiance reign her every move, right up until the complaint was sent to the Vanguard to have her removed from the Fireteam.

So far... she'd had six. How many times did she have to prove herself before everyone got the message? Cayde-6 didn't seem to get the message that she worked best _alone_ , with nobody to judge her. Yet despite both her and Zavala's protests, he kept assigning her teams, pressing that "Nobody'll care, once they can see what you can do."

She'd yet to meet anyone who supported this statement. Some people were nice about it; some coddled her too much, made her feel sick and worthless. Others were much more… heated about her placement to their team. But it all ended the same way.

So lost in thought was she, she didn't notice she'd strode into one of the zones where they were still working on construction of the outpost. So she didn't notice the scarlet-robed Warlock that had spotted her, and was running towards her, until he called out for her.

"Hey! Hunter! E-excuse me! Hey!" he called, startling her, as he ran up to her. Immediately, she noticed that something was wrong. He looked terrified. He wore scarlet robes, with a brown tunic beneath, and his bond was plain and gray. His sandy-brown hair was ruffled and misshapen, and his round, copper wire framed glasses looked like they had seen better days, a crack in the left lens. She froze. This was it, where someone found out.

"I need to know who's in charge of this outpost!" he declared urgently, wringing the sleeves of his robes stressedly. _This guy needs to calm down._ He looked like he was about to have an anxiety attack or something!

Before she could answer, or do much of anything, a shout came from above... right before a heavy tool of some sort landed on the Warlock's head. She drew in a sharp gasp.

"Oh my!" Padfoot exclaimed as the young man slumped forwards. Sierra lunged forwards and caught him before he could hit the ground. She lowered him to the floor gently, and rolled him over, running a hand over where whatever it was had hit him, checking for a dent in his skull.

A workman who had scrambled down rushed towards them as Padfoot gave the downed Warlock a scan.

"I'm sorry! My hand slipped! I'm sorry! Is he dead?!" the workman asked panicedly.

"Hello? This is Hunter Sierra Rogers' Ghost, Padfoot. We need a med team up in construction site C, blunt force trauma to the head." Padfoot said suddenly. "No he wasn't wearing a helmet; he's not a worker! He was trying to talk to my Guardian, she tends to wander aimlessly when she's thinking deeply. SHE WAS THINKINY DEEPLY! NO, SHE DIDN'T NOTICE WHERE SHE WAS GOINIG! HEY, WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE, THAT'S MY GUARDIAN YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, YOUNG LADY!"

Suddenly, the Guardian stirred with a low moan. Sierra's hand drifted automatically to one of her knives when something in his top pocket moved, but she relaxed when a Ghost in a red and white shell emerged sheepishly. The Guardian's eyes opened, and he looked up at her confusedly.

"Martin?" the newcomer Ghost asked tenetivly, sounding afraid. He looked at the robot with an even more puzzled expression.

"Martin? Who's this… Martin?" he asked. Sierra's brow furrowed; it was her turn to be confused now. _Why is he speaking in a Spanish accent?_ He hadn't been doing that before. He tried to haul himself to his feet, rubbing his head where it had been hit.

"Whoa, whoa! Take it easy!" Padfoot warned as the Warlock got up, Sierra helping to steady him.

" _You're_ Martin!" the Guardian's Ghost insisted at the same time. 'Martin' looked even more confusedly at the Ghost, and then suddenly fierce.

"My name," he declared, as Sierra felt something drop in her gut, "is Inigo. Inigo Montoya."

At that moment, Padfoot said out loud exactly what she was thinking.

"Oh, thrall spit."

* * *

 **Okay, here is where we launch once more unto the breach of ridiculousness that we had in Fever. I literally thought up of the most cliché thing I could, and wrote it down. Because after Heartbusters, and with all the... depressing, dramatic stuff that's been happening in 15 Seconds lately, I decided to do something completely ridiculous with _at least_ the beginning of this fic. **

**Because to be perfectly honest with you... the humor factor will be dialing down a bit as we approach the climax of the series and the Brask/Ashraven plot comes to a head. That's what I'm calling it; it's vague, and fits the bill.**

 **And YAY! I finally introduced you all properly to Padfoot! ^^ He's may favorite Ghost!**

 **This Is Sarcasm: Yup.^^**

 **jsm1978: I have the innate inability to keep my fics to myself for very long, no matter how much I say it'll be a while. I've just kept it in for so long, I felt the need to vomit writing onto the site before I went mad.**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: Yes. Yes you have. Here, talk with Padfoot; he likes arriving, too.**

 **Guest: It's nice to be back, Jerald. now, onto our favorite weatherman, Marcus Daryll!**

 **Oh, I think you guys are going to flip at the next chapter. Martenj supporters specifically(Order and Chaos, I'm looking at you). Several people have wanted to see more Martenj. Wish granted.**

 **That being said, here's Lyse. And Sierra rogers. Let me know what you think about Rogers; I'm trying to write her character _just_ right, or else it'll all blow up in my face. I've been waiting to introduce her character, excited for it, actually, considering my idea for her only came near the end of summer. She's a relatively new addition to my Dysfunctional Fireteam dream. She's a baby, a bit less developed in my head than all these other characters, even Lyse. ****She does love her knives, though. She loves her knives _a lot_. And Padfoot. She loves her Ghosty-whosty.**

 **Lyse... enough said. You can go ahead and freak out now that miss tall, dark and scary is RIGHT FREAKING HERE in the Reef!**

 **Next Time: Inigo is a Spaniard with a plan, though he has no idea what said plan is, and Sierra needs to practice restraint with her knives.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	3. Of Lice and Love

**Rogers' Theme: "Beyond Our Dreams"- Epic Soul Factory**

* * *

"You're sure you really want me on this?" Faroth asked again worriedly. He had never been a worrier, but it was cute when he was.

"Yes, Faroth!" Petra laughed. "I wouldn't want anyone else! Plus, that lady the Queen wanted to send here was… well, I didn't like her attitude when I mentioned you."

In a matriarchal, feminist society, it wasn't uncommon to find a few bad apples. Men in power were a rare thing, though the Crows generally were occupied by male roles. The Reef military ran off the belief that women were superior navigators, and as they lived in an asteroid field, well… one knew how _that_ went. Though she was pretty sure the military leaders had never actually _seen_ a Crow air strike before, or how the Prince managed to outfly just about every other Paladin and commander she'd met.

So in Reef society, it was not uncommon to find women who were… overly prejudiced towards males. Petra had no such sentiments, but when she'd mention how good a doctor Faroth was, the woman the Queen had assigned to her had stuck her nose up in the air and said some things she was very glad her old friend didn't have to hear.

Faroth had been with her from the beginning; the very beginning, back in her old recruit squad, after she'd faked her age to get into Corsair training. She'd still been reeling from the deaths of Viridia and Pinar, her younger and older sisters, respectively. Viri had only been twelve, and Pinar had been around long since before Petra was born.

Faroth had stuck with her through it all, as the team medic, and later her best friend. Even after the disaster that had ended with the deaths of nine Guardians and the loss of her eye, he'd followed her, to keep her company, to the Last City, and later as the lead researcher to find a cure for the disease.

She'd sent a letter of complaint to the Queen after the chosen doctor's outburst of sexist statements, and the woman had been quietly removed from the Outpost. Then, she'd called Faroth in, telling the Queen she need not assign someone else; she had a choice in mind. Not only was he a skilled doctor, he was the smartest person she knew.

Well, the smartest person she knew aside from… _him_. She shook the image of a young, bespectacled Warlock out of her head.

Faroth unloaded another blanket from the crate. The Vestian Outpost infirmary was rather blank at the moment; sheetless beds lining the walls, no medical equipment installed yet. Unpacked boxes everywhere; Faroth's assisting staff wouldn't start work until tomorrow, but he insisted on getting as much done on his own before then.

"Well, I appreciate the job, Petra; I really do. I think I would've died of boredom in that child's excuse for a lab they had me studying in!" he told her, unfolding the blanket and draping it over a mattress. She took a closer look at one of the boxes near her, where she stood leaning against the doorway. She narrowed her eye.

"Human blood? Why would you need human blood?" she asked. He gave her an incredulous look.

"Well, we're working with a human, aren't we? What if she gets injured? Awoken blood won't do at all, and neither will Awoken antibiotics, which could attack the wrong cells, since our genetics are so different. I've got a bit of each blood type in from the Last City, since you never know." He gave a wry laugh. "Who knows? Maybe you'll have to evac some wounded humans, and the Reef is the closes hospital! I like to be prepared."

She nodded slowly. "Okay. Makes sense."

Sierra Rogers must be a capable Hunter, otherwise the City would not have sent her, but the woman seemed a bit... reluctant to Petra. And a more than a little shy and withdrawn. Well, at least she was quiet, unlike their _other_ guest. She scowled as she remembered Lyse's remark about her eye.

 _That woman is trouble waiting to happen._ She wore the pendant and bond of the Phoenixsong Order, but she was _nothing_ like what most Warlocks of that order were. The basis of the Phoenixsong Order was for Warlocks who weren't really fighters, but wanted to help; their philosophy utilized the powers of the Sunsinger to heal, rather than fight. Phoenixsong Warlocks in the field were a rare sight, as they mostly worked with the Tower infirmary. It took a high level of solar mastery for a Warlock to even _dream_ about healing themselves- or others, for that matter.

Her comms beeped in her ears, and she pressed her earpiece.

 **"Um, Petra. We've... got a bit of a situation down here. There's crazy Warlock who thinks he's Inigo Montoya running around assaulting people with an invisible rapier."** it was Rogers' Ghost, Padfoot.

"He thinks he's who now?" Petra asked, confused.

 **"Inigo Montoya; a fictional character from a classical romance novel. He's a Spanish sword master searching to avenge his father. And this Warlock is really freaking people out-SIERRA! Put that knife back, you should be ashamed of yourself! He doesn't know who he is! Look Petra, maybe come and try to calm him down a bit, Sierra isn't very good at this, and he WAS looking for whoever was in charged before he got hit."** The Ghost continued. Petra frowned. _Okay then; an odd first day._

"Hit? Hit by what?" she inquired, casting Faroth a look, who was reaching for a med case, looking concerned.

 **"In the head, by a wrench of some sort. Oh dear, he's checking every other man's right hand. Petra, we might need a list of anyone here with physical deformities; we need to know if there's ANYONE here with six fingers on their right hand. If so... dear light help us all."** Padfoot sighed mournfully. **"Sierra, for the last time, that is NOT an option! And NO, it is not okay if you just disable him! PUT THAT KNIFE** ** _BACK_** **,** ** _RIGHT NOW_** **young lady!"**

The comms cut off, Petra wincing as Padfoot yelled in her ear. _What_ is it _with that woman and her knives?_ A blade seemed to be Rogers' answer to everything. She exchanged a worried glance with Faroth.

"Looks like you're about to get your first patient." she told him. He nodded.

"Who was that on the comms, anyway? He sounded... very gung-ho." he commented.

"That," she told him, turning to leave, "was the very energetic Ghost of one Sierra Rogers. She's that Human of yours."

* * *

Lyse was not _at all_ what Variks was hoping she'd be. When he'd heard there was going to be a last-minute Warlock addition sent to the Reef, he'd been hoping it would be Martin Anton. He'd been disappointed to find it was a stranger in the war room, but hopeful she'd be as pleasant an inquisitive mind as Martin.

She wasn't. She wasn't pleasant AT ALL. She wasn't kind, or inquisitive, or helpful and agreeable like Martin. She was callous, bitter, hostile... _sad_ , in a strange sort of way. Eliksni noticed more things, saw more, scented more, than Awoken, Humans, or Exos. The sad was almost undetectable, beneath all the pure, fire-born rage, but there was just enough there to make one wonder what might have happened to her.

What was more; it literally hurt to be around her. He could, to an extent, sense a Guardian's light, as a sort of... oddness around them. There was no way to describe the oddness; it was just... odd. He could remember a sort of energetic oddness about Silverhawk, giving him a slight headache, it had been just as bouncy and hyperactive as she was.

Martin's, however, had been a faint, almost pleasant background noise of sorts. The young Warlock claimed his Light was stunted; perhaps this was why his oddness wasn't so hard to be around? Why Variks, at times, forgot it was there, almost creating the illusion that Martin was a perfectly normal Human?

Sierra Rogers' oddness was almost... sharp, like the knives she was so fond of. Precise. Enclosed. A controlled flame. It didn't hurt to be around her; most times, the oddness didn't. But Lyse; Lyse's oddness was a chorus of infernos and fury and vengeance, and it made his head spin just to be around her. It felt like his very mind was being scorched, and after leaving the war room, he'd found himself checking his skin to see if he'd been burned, so harsh the exposure to her had been on him.

Variks sighed, lowering himself to sit down on a crate in his tent. It had been moved to the outpost. He yet again examined his lower left arm; the pain had been most intense there. _Another reason to hate the Dark._ He thought.

Though he'd left the Darkness that whispered to his kind behind, clawed himself free of the misty black, his exposure to it during his time with the House of Wolves was not without its side effects. One was not touched by the Dark without it leaving some kind of brand. This was his. He was glad Martin's oddness didn't hurt any; he liked the scrawny Warlock, he really did. He'd once scoffed at the possibility of friendship or social interaction, but there was no denying that he'd felt satisfied, elated even, to interact, laugh, with Martin, a _human_ , of all things.

He hadn't even remembered the last time he'd laughed before that. Or met someone who didn't mind his social shortcomings, or enjoyed solving things the same way he did. He let out a rattling chuckle. _Oh, Skolas_ would be _disgusted. An Eliksni, befriending a Brightfang._ 'Brightfang' was the word the Wolves, who were newcomers to the system at the time, used to describe Guardians. It was fitting for them.

Suddenly, he heard a commotion growing outside. He tipped his head to the side, listening. He sucked in sharply when he heard a familiar voice; a _very_ familiar voice. _Martin!_ But why was he speaking so strangely? Why was he yelling like that?

Variks left his tent, and was shocked to by what he saw roughly ten feet away. Shocked speechless.

* * *

Lyse needed to eat. She hadn't eaten properly for days. So, she bought herself a sandwich. Nothing too big, just a little ham and cheese something with some lettuce on it.

And wouldn't you know, as she was walking down the street, the _exact moment_ she was about to bite into it… black talons snatched it out of her grasp, and with a flurry of feathers, her lunch was gone. She stared at her empty hands for a moment, and then her eyes narrowed into the deadliest glare ever seen on a person. She turned her head, fire-like gaze following the thief, and one word rang venomously through her head.

 _Uldren._

The prince held out his hand and caught the prize, and held his arm outwards for his crow to land on. He held up the sandwich, and waved it in the bird's direction.

"You should know, that was the best test flight any of you drones have ever had." He told it. It looked at him blankly. "Now, go to Venus, and scout the Ishtar region for House of Wolves activity, or major Fallen movements from any house. Clear?"

"Yes master."

"Then fly." He told it. It took off, and he watched it go until it was out of sight. He looked down at the sandwich, and considered eating it. He almost did, before realizing Lyse had bought it, and it probably had something messed-up in it. Besides; he wasn't that hungry.

"On second thought, it's probably covered in lice." He said out loud, holding it over a trash bin before dropping it in and brushing his hands off. He sat back his hands behind his head, looking unhappily up at the ceiling, blood boiling once more now that his brief spout of immaturity had passed.

 _"_ _You will stay at the outpost, Uldren. Investigate, evaluate the Guardians, partake in the hunt some." Mara insisted over the line._

 _"_ _And if Della Tay decides to pay another unwelcome visit while I'm not with you? She won't fail twice, Mara." He snapped back. No way was he staying here and leaving her on her own!_

 _"_ _Uldren, you have barely slept in weeks." Her berating tone sounding more like a sister and less like a Queen. "You hardly allow yourself to eat. I can't remember the last time I saw you sit down. Your 'guarding' has become borderline unhealthy. You will stay at the outpost, and you will stay there until I need you back at Vesta. There are plenty of people to guard me, Uldren, not just you."_

 _"_ _Mara, you listen; not all your guards are trained to look for signs of Tay. The Fallen keep doing a half-job, Palanski and Torret are idiots who wouldn't know a bomb if it walked up and blew up in their faces and—Mara? Mara! DID YOU SERIOUSLY JUST HANG UP ON ME!" He kicked the machine. "MARA! Damn it!"_

 _He stormed away from the communications terminal, fuming, and caught sight of Rogers looking down on him from one of the upper levels. Their gazes met, and she froze. She made a sort of nervous wave before turning hastily and walking away. He snorted. That confirmed it; Rogers was weird. Socially awkward, and weird._

He glared at the ceiling. It wasn't fair! Why was he stuck _here_ , when he should be _there_? His protection wasn't 'unhealthy'! He was doing his job!

He would never admit it to anyone, how much the Black Garden incident had rattled him. Tay would come for revenge, and it wouldn't be pretty. She would probably figure out a much more violent death for Mara as punishment. And he wouldn't admit it, but Mara was right that he'd hardly been sleeping. The last time he slept, it was to dream Tay had caught them both, and forced him to watch as his sister was ripped in two before he was drowned in oil.

Those dreams messed with his head, and he needed to stay sharp. If that meant neglecting his sleep, then so be it. At this point, he was so used to being tired, he barely noticed the exhaustion any more. He kicked the table in front of him angrily.

 _If Tay comes, we won't be ready._ He thought. The gruesome images of his dreams assaulted him again. _There will be no rescues. She'll be sure of it._

* * *

Petra was… well, 'shocked' wouldn't even begin to describe it. Following Padfoot's directions to find Rogers attempting to reign in a certain Warlock—a certain Warlock that Petra found to be extremely cute in an attractive sort of way—was certainly not what she was expecting when she came up to the main outpost area, where she would be working for most of her time.

"Do not wave you hand at me, sir! I am seeking justice for my father before me!" he was yelling in a Spanish accent at a guard whose right hand he was trying to grab hold of.

"Hey!" Petra yelled, clapping loudly to get his attention. Martin, or rather, 'Inigo', froze, looking at her. Nearby, Rogers stopped as well. Martin's jaw went slack at the sight of her, as if mystified.

Inigo had never seen anything like her. She was missing an eye, her hair brushed to one side to cover old scars, but even those visible seemed to enhance the image of perfection that stood before him now. Her single eye glowed like a sky, and the luminescent skin of her face made her look as if she stood in a sunlit cave with a river running through it. Her stance was all battle, and muscle structure told of an agile fighter.

She was the most beautiful creature Inigo had ever seen, and his heart seemed quite taken with her as well.

"Maiden of light and fire!" he gasped, dropping the wrist of the man he'd been checking for six fingers. He _knew_ there were villains afoot here somewhere… but maybe not the six-fingered man, he was beginning to think? He strode up to her, in awe. Her face betrayed shock, and her shoulders were carried with authority.

"You look like moon blossoms in a sea of lavender." He told her, taking one of her hands. She seemed too surprised to react. Her hand was small, but firm, built to kill. _Oh, a shield-maiden fair of sight and fierce of spirit!_ He didn't know how he knew this. He just… did. His eyes caught sight of something at the other end of the metal platform; a tent of sorts. But it wasn't the tent that caught his interest; it was a few of the crates outside of it.

 _I know I have seen those before somewhere…_ Suddenly, he remembered with a flash, the place he had to go. _Sector B! That is where I shall find what it is I'm looking for! Whatever sector B is, I swear on the sword of my father, I_ shall _find it!_

"I have remembered something greatly important, heart of my heart." He said, holding her hand in his two own. "But fear not, warrior maiden; I shall return."

He didn't know why he did it. But perhaps it was because his own heart yearned to greatly to be closer to hers that he leant in and kissed her, before bowing slightly and running to continue his quest. For some reason, his feet knew where to go, though his heart called him backwards, to _her_.

Stopping to rest briefly, he let out a deep sigh, a smile broad on his face. For some reason, he suddenly knew her name. _Oh, dearest Petra, I swear I shall not fail you!_ For some reason, he felt like he may have wronged her or failed her before at some point in the past, but he couldn't remember.

 _No matter!_ He shook his head. True love would have to wait, until his unknown mission was complete. No matter how much something, or maybe, _someone_ , in the back of his mind screamed to go back and protect her. No matter how much he wanted to stay in that moment forever, with her, staring into that glowing, sky-like eye.

No matter how much it ached. So he continued.

He continued, completely unaware that Variks had come out of his tent at the last moment to see Martin Anton kissing Petra Venj _in public_ , before running away like for all the world he'd just won the lottery. His staff clattered to the ground, everybody in the area gawking at the scene that had just unfolded before them. Padfoot looked around. His and Sierra's gazes met.

Petra stared blankly in shock, jaw hanging open, hand held up halfway from when Martin had let go of it. She wanted to scream. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to die. She wanted to run forever and never stop. She wanted to slap him so hard, his ancestors felt it.

And so the war of wrong and right continued. It was _so wrong_. But _so right_.

But it wasn't _really_ Martin. But it was, in a way. Was it? Her brain broke trying to figure out WHAT THE HECK JUST HAPPENED, and she fell backwards into a dead faint.

* * *

 **Martenj shippers, you're welcome. Inigo is a little impulsive, ain't he?**

 **Updates might speed up for a while, so I can get the 'fluff' chapters out of the way and get to the action I'm currently writing. We're talking high-speed electro-magnet tram fights, Lyse being a legendary butt kicker, Variks pulling a 'Shadow of the Colossus', and Sierra being a damn hard-headed, knife-throwing omen of death. All in all, the second half of this fic will be fairly action-packed.**

 **It's kind of an experiment; there's going to be a lot of fighting and action in Twilight and the 15 Seconds-Twilight intermission, and I need some practice.**

 **Guest(17th): She's not necessarily racist; Variks is a Fallen, a species she's spent her life as a Guardian fighting. She harbors distain for him because of what his people have done, and doesn't trust him one bit. Lyse is a very bitter, bitter person; she's lost more than everything, and this comes out as her lashing out at everything. I implied that she's given her life completely and entirely to her mystery mission; this has driven her to becoming the person we're dealing with now. Psychologically, she's the most complex character I've EVER written, for myself or for fanfiction. Even _I_ don't know if she's good or evil, her lines are so blurred. Hehe, Padfoot is my child. My precious little lovely. He's blazing, and I hop[e everyone falls in love with the little guy as much as I have.**

 **FieryWarlock999: I can tell, about the caffeine. Don't worry, LoL; Martin's not gone for good.**

 **Guest(18th): I'm glad you've enjoyed it!**

 **Man, Amber was right; review _have_ run dry lately. And it's looking like this fic isn't getting the same reception as Heartbusters; I suppose threequels aren't as anticipated as much as sequels. But all my usually people have gone missing! Based on statistics, the election is to blame. Things went south view-wise after the election; I blame the Martians. They rigged the election with mind-beams to make people go bonkers and riot, harbor negative feelings, and cry like the sky is falling. I am pretty certain Trump doesn't plan on discriminating and restraining the democrate the same way they did to us, guys; stop whining, get a glass of water, and drown yourself in fanfiction so I can collect your wondrous reviews about literature. Because literature is neutral and reading helps _me_ feel better, as it should everyone else, because we all like to go to our own little fantasy world when we read-**

 **...**

 **This is NOT what normal people think about elections, is it? Aw well; I love being Abby-Normal. (i am _such_ a nerd)**

 **I'm still going to say that global warming is a hoax...**

 **To cover up the Martians.(?) (I literally have no idea; I joked about Martians running the government the other day and now it's become a thing)**

 **Next Time: Silverhawk trolls the Fallen, and Uldren is having a weird day.**

 **Cheers!^^**

 **(martians...)**


	4. Of Kells and Crazy Spaniards

**Silverhawk's Theme: "The Wildcard"- Really Slow Motion**

* * *

Silverhawk slunk through the undergrowth, footsteps light as a wildcat's. She knew for a _fact_ where the Vandal the Baron had been speaking with; he was going back to the Reef, to betray the Queen. Hopefully the _Timey-Wimey_ 's flight would be faster than whatever ship he was using.

She halted behind a tree, and peaked out. They were in the Ishtar Region, and the Baron was striding out onto an old highway. He climbed onto a Pike, and started it up. Silverhawk's eyes widened as she realized she was going to lose him. She unhooked a small rectangular launcher the length of a hand cannon barrel from her belt, and removed one of the small, round devices that were hooked to its side. She fitted it into the launcher, pulled it back, and let it fly.

The Baron's head jerked up at the light, hard, _clink_ it made as it hit the hull of his vehicle, but he missed it completely, and when he looked at the tree line, Silverhawk giggled, hidden behind the tree. _Oh, how fun, it is to Troll, the Fallen day by day, hey!_ She sang in her head.

"Silverhawk, I'm getting a response ping from Skink." Westley spoke up. Silverhawk's grin, if possible, grew even wider.

"Tell him to tell Tevis he'd better get over here, or he's going to miss all the fun!" she said.

"Way ahead of you, Heather Chancellor." a voice turned raspy by an old injury declared. Silverhawk whirled around, beaming, to see the Nightstalker melting out of the shadows of the forest.

"Tevis Larsen, we've been over this before; it's 'Silverhawk'. if you aren't nice to me... I'll use your middle name." she threatened good-naturedly. She couldn't see beneath his Iron Banner mask, but she could hear the frown in his voice when he next spoke.

"You don't know my middle name."

"Cayde told me."

"He didn't."

"He did."

"You're bluffing."

"F-F-F-Fa-"

"Okay! Okay, you aren't bluffing!" he held up his hands in surrender. He sounded like a man past his prime, but she knew that the mask hid a surprisingly young face; it was an old lung injury, caused by acid infused with particles of Darkness, that gave Tevis the vocal appearance of being well-aged.

That being said, he actually pretended to be an old guy every now and then to scare the newbie Hunters by yelling at them to 'get off my lawn, dang kids!' All and all, it was just an excuse to sound smarter and more experienced than he actually was.

"So, what's the situation exactly?" he questioned.

"A Fallen Baron chatting with a Vandal from the Reef. Martin's gone to warn them, but our Baron friend just drove off towards the Cinders. Luckily, thanks to Martin's nerdy tracking device," she held up the launcher, which sat in the palm of her hand," we can find his exact location easy as pie."

"Well, then. That's… a lot to take in." he commented, running his hand over his helmet, voice ringing with concern. "Do you think Martin will get to the Reef on time? Should we contact the Tower or keep quiet so as not to alert the Fallen?"

"I think we should stay quiet, go see what that Baron is getting up to, and mess with him some." She told him with a grin. Under his helmet, he smiled as well.

"Well then, _Silverhawk_ … lead the way."

* * *

"It's really strange he's going this far into Winter territory." Tevis commented as they picked their way up the miniature mountain. There were Fallen from the House of Winter standing guard everywhere, and it was only thanks to the Nightstalker's crafty stealth skills that they had managed to climb up the rocks. Currently, the House of Winter's den was directly below them, dug into the rocks for who-knew how far.

"Maybe, he's trying to strike a deal with them. Remember with the disease? The Wolves tried to unite the Houses in preparation to kill everybody after we were weakened by the sickness?" Silverhawk pointed out.

"You think they might have a new disease, or have some similar kind of plan?"

"No idea. But they're up to something big, if whoever's in charge is willing to send a Baron into enemy territory."

"Well, he was meeting with a Reef Vandal. Maybe they're staging a coup?"

"Hope not; the last thing I need is for Martin to be caught in the Reef in the middle of a Fallen assault when I'm half a solar system away."

Tevis grabbed her by the cloak to stop her from falling into the large hole that suddenly yawned in front of them. She scrambled backwards, bits of grit falling down into the pit, which was crawling with Fallen of all sizes and ranks, moving supplies or barking at each other. Several vandals were writhing in a pile, snarling and hissing at each other. A nearby Captain watched bordly, doing nothing to break up the fight, and the Dregs avoided the scuffle at all costs.

Silverhawk leaned out a little cautiously. According to Martin, the Fallen had once been a very different race; even visited by the Traveler. She wondered if they were what Humanity would become if the Darkness won, if whenever she saw a Fallen, she was seeing the possible future for those she was sworn to protect.

All the more reason to fight them.

"Silverhawk, Tevis." Westley said quietly, peeking out from her hood. "I'm detecting an energy signature nearby that seems suspiciously similar to a Ketch."

"A Ketch?" Tevis exclaimed softly. "On the ground? They rarely land."

"Well, let's go see what's got this one down here." Silverhawk shrugged. _I wonder if I'll get to blow it up?_ That was what happened the last time she'd encountered a grounded Ketch.

The two of them made their way over the rocky, often steep terrain, and eventually came to a wide canyon…

With a Ketch parked right in the middle of it. Silverhawk grinned.

"Bingo." She and Tevis crouched amongst the rocks, pressing themselves against the ground to hide, and she was vaguely aware of the Nightstalker fingering one of the smoke bombs on his belt as a line of Fallen filed out from the cave entrance beneath them, picking their way down to the landing area down below.

There were Fallen bustling about, giving orders. Shanks and Servitors scouting the inner perimeter. And the Wolf Baron was… waiting? Waiting for what…?

 _Oh, snapple cracks. Tell me that isn't what I think it is…_

A truly massive Fallen was now descending the ramp of the Ketch. Even bigger than an Archon. It _was_ what she thought it was.

"Ahhh, Thrall spit. A Kell." Tevis swore beside her. The Kell strode up to the Baron, who was surrounded by several large Captains. The Kell's guard was fanned out on either side of him. "Draksis. Kell of the House of Winter. What's he doing on the ground?"

"Looks like… he's palling up with our Baron." Westley commented.

"That doesn't make any sense." Skink said, materializing beside Tevis. "The House of Winter, Kings, and Devils hate the House of Wolves. For Twilight Gap, and for the fact that the disease plan kind of blew up in their faces… literally, they still could have crushed us but someone blew up twelve Ketches, so…"

"Yeah. You know, I'd _love_ to meet the person who did that. We could be possibly related." Silverhawk smirked.

"Hsst!" Tevis hissed. He pointed at the Fallen down below. The Kell and the Baron seemed to be arguing. Heatedly. As in the Kell had picked up the Baron by the throat, and was lifting him, crushing his neck while yelling.

"Westley, you getting their conversation?" she asked her Ghost.

"I've managed to get into their comms(great feat from this distance, by the way), and perhaps Variks might be willing to translate it for us? It would take a lot less long than running it through a translation matrix, especially with such limited knowledge of the Fallen language." He told her.

"Hey, I know a little Fallen." Tevis raised his hand slightly. Westley looked at him.

"Which dialect? According to Martin, there are at least fifteen different dialects of Fallen used in this system, differences ranging from spelling, to growl inflection. Not even the Queen of the Reef probably knows them all; Variks is member of the House of Judgement. For the record, they hate the House of Wolves, too. Mainly because the Wolves committed genocide against them; there are only three recorded living members to date, and a few dead ones pop up now and then. The Reef is our best chance at translating these recordings."

As he finished speaking, the Kell slammed the Baron into the ground, breaking his neck. The body was left to rot or be torn apart for fun, or eaten, or whatever it was the Fallen did with enemy corpses.

"If there's a Kell here, this could be an opportunity." Tevis said. Silverhawk looked at him. "Draksis was there during Twilight Gap. One of his Barons tried to kill Cayde and I after another close call. We only survived because Brask was a quick thinker. Damn, if that log had fallen just an inch to the right…"

"Should we contact the Vanguard?" Silverhawk asked excitedly. To kill an infamous Kell would be… blazing.

"Of course we should! Either Zavala's going to hug us when we get back, or he's going to shoot us for disobeying orders if he says 'don't go after the Kell'!" Finishing off with a somewhat viable Zavala impression, he had Skink contact the Vanguard.

Silverhawk guiltily remembered her promise to Martin to not go after a Kell… unless she was really, super angry. She tried to drum up some anger and failed. There was too much _excitement_.

 _Ah, well. I pretty sure I can drum up some viable emotions before the day is done._

* * *

 **"ULDREN!"** the Prince, having drifted off into a doze, nearly leapt out of his skin when the voice of Rogers' Ghost screamed through his comm piece. **"A CRAZY WARLOCK WHO THINKS HE'S A SPANIARD JUST KISSED PETRA VENJ** ** _ON THE LIPS_** **!"**

 _Okay so- hold on, WHAT?!_ Uldren shook his head, wondering if he was hearing correctly. Perhaps he wasn't; he was pretty sure his ears had just exploded from the Ghost's outburst. Or maybe it was the sleep deprivation messing with his head again?

"What?" rubbed his ear, which was ringing, and turned down the volume. _I really should stop wearing these things when I'm off-duty._

 **"Okay, so there's this crazy Warlock, and he got hit on a head with a wrench."** Padfoot started over, speaking quickly. **"And then when he woke up he thought he was a spanish swordmaster, and he ran around looking for people with six fingers on their right hand-don't ask- up until he saw Petra, and then he got all gooey and romantic and then he KISSED her ON THE LIPS and then he ran off and we just kind of stood there because that was a little wierd."**

"... And where is this... crazy Warlock now?" Uldren asked, at a loss for exactly how to react to this.

 **"** **Uhhhh… we don't know."** Padfoot admitted. **"** **We're looking for him right now. Before he got hit, he said he needed to speak to whoever was in charge; whatever he was here to talk about, he was terrified. As in 'this could be the end of the world' kind of scared-looking. It could be more important than we think to find him and trigger his memory."**

Uldren rubbed his forehead, trying to take it all in. This was by far the strangest thing he'd ever heard of. "Alright; get Lyse in on the search, but keep this quiet, and if he remembers, don't let him yell it out in public. We don't want to start a panic, if his information really is that important."

 **"** **Okay. Sierra, you've had** ** _enough_** **coffee for one day."** With that, the comm link cut out, and Uldren looked back up at the ceiling. He ran his hands over his face. _Oh, space urchins; why can't we have any_ normal _problems for once?_ Every time a guardian showed up, something strange happened, it seemed.

He got up, stretching. He sincerely hoped that this didn't turn out to be a highly annoying waste of time. _But of course, I have nothing else to do._ He glared at nothing in particular. Here he was, doing something utterly stupid and possibly useless, when he could be protecting his sister!

He stormed off towards the main section of the outpost. He might as well start looking.

After all; how hard could it be to find a supposedly insane Warlock?

* * *

 **Surprisingly hard, actually.**

 **Order and Chaos: Hehe. I'm sticking with the martians, though; it's funnier because it's new. Lizards are like, SO last Geneva Convention! Ah, don't worry; this is as ridiculous as we're going to get. I can't push the boundaries TOO far... Actually, Martin will become much bolder later in the series, but not for now. It's going to be a slow change, but Petra WILL be a part of that. But at the same time, he can't change too much, because its the shy weirdo she's kind of fallen for; not a brave Warlock.**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: Padfoot is far form peaceful, LoL. If he met Aiden it WOULD BE the end of the world. Is it bad that I spent so much time perfecting the personality of such a minor character? Well, I guess the only thing for it is to make him more a of a major player...**

 **Guest(22nd): Hehe. I know how you feel. Politics are lame and boring, but when the environmentalists get involved, it makes my brain automatically ignore them for the sake of my sanity because they seem to have TIME FREEZING POWERS WHENEVER THEY TALK! Sam goes for anyone or anything that is equally unbearable...And no, I don't think Martin will remember. It's a bit of a "** **stolen kiss" in that sense, because I think Petra will be too embarrassed to tell him about it.**

 **Guest: Sovietshadow, you forgot to put you name. ^^ Padfoot is the child of my Harry Potter fascination, and my need for a Ghost who was EXTREMELY active in the story.**

 **Buckle up guys; the explosive action begins next chapter. We'll _really_ get to know Rogers now, and I really hope you guys will enjoy a fresh PoV in the series. I have a feeling you're either going to love Rogers, or your going to hate her. But by the ned of this, none of you will be able to deny...**

 **She's a damn butt-kicking beast and now the Fallen know it.**

 **Next Time: Magnet-tram fight, buy your tickets today, and Martin takes a couple of unfortunate Eliksni as social hostages...**

 **Cheers!^^**


	5. Of Knives and Fire

**Brask's Secret/Ashraven's Legacy: "They Are Here"- Elegy Music**

* * *

Inigo was pacing. Restlessly. Mercilessly. The floor would cry out if it could against his constant movement wearing it down.

"Perhaps it is not some _thing_ I'm looking for, but some _one_?" he wondered out loud, halting. He was in front of the place he needed to go; Sector B. There were two beings watching him. They'd claimed to be searching for someone called 'Variks', a name that sent something in his mind flapping, but he couldn't grasp it's meaning.

It had taken vehement insisting to get them to stay and sit, and they watched him apprehensively with a set of four eyes each. Both were dressed in green and white, with similar insignias on their clothes. They were bug-like, with four arms each, and there was an unpleasant smell about them. Something about them made alarm bells go off somewhere in the back of his head, but for some reason, he felt quite relaxed around these ones.

"Perhaps." One of the strangers agreed hesitantly with a voice that rattled and gurgled like a monster's. He looked at his companion nervously. The one that had spoken seemed a little less stand-offish than the other one, who seemed to be becoming increasingly frustrated with Inigo for some reason.

Inigo looked at the hostile one. The bells were really ringing now, and something else in his mind was tapping at him, trying to gain his attention. Oh, why was this so difficult and frustrating? He couldn't remember how he got here, he couldn't remember what his mission was, and he couldn't for the life of him, remember what everything was or why he couldn't remember in the first place! _Some sort of witchcraft, perhaps?_

No matter; he was remembering, piece by piece. If he could remember that glorious warrior maiden, he could remember his mission, no doubt. Suddenly, something went click in his brain, and he beamed in triumph as a new piece of information pulled through the haze.

"Tell me… are there others of your kind here?" he asked with a smile, crossing his arms over his chest.

* * *

"He can't have just _disappeared_! He went off in this direction he _has_ to be around here somewhere!" Padfoot exclaimed, zipping ahead as they searched the corridors the Warlock had run off towards.

Variks, surprisingly, had claimed to know the young man that was now running loose in the Vestian Outpost. Martin Anton, known both as a Guardian who helped find the cure for the disease, and as the Warlock who delt the final blow to the Heart of the Black Garden. She remembered this because she'd seen him faint on stage for the whole City to see.

 _Some people just weren't meant to give speeches._ She thought to herself as she picked apart the area with her eyes. Padfoot let out a frustrated sigh as they stopped right outside Sector B. He floated up to her.

"I hate this Sierra. This is _not_ what I was expecting our first mission to be like. I thought there'd be more guns and explosions, and Fallen shooting at us. This is just… ridiculous." He sighed, shell drooping. Sierra looked up as footsteps sounded through the halls. She strode towards the corner and looked around it hopefully, only to find, to her immense disappointment, that it wasn't the rouge Warlock, but one Prince Uldren. He froze as he spotted her, and she snapped to attention instinctively. As a guest with her own… difficulties to sort out, she needed to stick to proper form as much as possible, and he was, technically, her Commanding Officer now, lacking only the final confirmation papers. He gave her an odd, surprised look before speaking.

"At ease. Any luck?" he asked curtly. She shook her head, shrugging. _The guy doesn't have a clue where he is, and he's_ this _impossible to find!?_

"This is probably the weirdest thing we've ever done. Is the Reef always like this?" Padfoot inquired. She tensed, and pulled her hood over her head self-consciously.

"No." the Prince replied shortly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a pinging sound from his earpiece. He tapped it, and Padfoot went silent while the Crow leader listened.

"WHAT!?" Sierra jumped slightly at his alarmed exclamation. "What kind of a situation? Be more specific, damn it!"

"Sierra, I'm getting an incoming transmission, from somewhere in the heart of the Reef. They're… calling us in? Huh?" Padfoot announced quietly. _Must have something to do with what Uldren's getting right now._ She guessed.

As if to confirm this, the Prince gave her an odd look. Sierra narrowed her eyes. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. Crazy Warlock, situation in the Reef, war with the Wolves… Something didn't add up, and her instincts were screaming at her that there was a storm on the horizon.

Her instincts rarely failed her. And the alarmed look on Prince Uldren's face supported them.

"Rogers, you got that as well?" he asked urgently as the report form his comm piece ended. She nodded. "There's a 'vague situation' on Vesta-4. They're calling you and Lyse in, and they're calling me back. We have to be at the web transport in five minutes; they're this way, quickly!"

Her eyes widened as he took off in the opposite direction. She ran after him, ignoring the halls and surroundings they passed as they ran. She found this made time pass faster for her when she was running; she was a Gunslinger, not a Bladedancer. She couldn't use the arc to speed her journey, so she found just focusing on the actual action of _running_ , not giving her surrounding a passing glance, only paying them heed if they got in her way, made time seem to fly by as she traveled.

So it only seemed like a small eternity until they arrived at a generally empty tram port. There were several carriages docked, and a metal tunnel, made of some sort of flexible magnet-steel blend, stretched into the asteroids beyond, connecting the Vestian outpost to the heart of the Web. The magnets sent the little metal boxes on their way through the tunnel, magnets and electrical pulses.

Panting, they looked around. Lyse was nowhere to be found. In fact, the port wasn't just empty; it looked abandoned. _I wonder what's so big they need Lyse and I over there?_ It suddenly occurred to her that left just Variks and Petra to find "Inigo". And it seemed this occurred to Padfoot as well.

"I just signaled Variks; he'll look for our runaway Warlock while we're gone. He says Petra's just woken up, and she looks, understandably, very angry. I'd be angry too if a complete stranger walked up and kissed me." The Ghost informed her and Uldren. The Prince jerked his head in absent-minded acknowledgement of this information, pacing furiously in front of the cart.

"Damn it Lyse, where are you?" he muttered under his breath as she took the opportunity to examine her surroundings more. There were three exits; an elevator directly across from where Uldren and Sierra where, which opened up on the second floor, which stretched along the walls of the port. The main entrance, some distance away, and the main exit, which went along the side of the port and let out, by her guess, somewhere in the small marketplace.

Suddenly, the elevator dinged, and she guessed there was a third floor above the port. Uldren's head snapped around as the doors open and Lyse Ravenwood strode calmly, almost boredly out, hands folded behind her back. Uldren stormed up to her angrily.

"Where have you been!?" He demanded. She blinked calmly at him, as if she didn't care he existed. "The Queen is in danger and you just _walked_ down here like it's a midsummer stroll?"

"I saw no reason to hurry; I'll kill whatever we encounter either way." She reasoned nonchalantly. Her suddenly calm but menacing demeanor caught Sierra by surprise. Last time she'd seen the Warlock, she'd been about to spit fire at Padfoot. Her eyes caught a glint of something red and bright above the main entrance archway. A sign had turned on.

 _Desolc trop?_ She began switching the letters around in her mind, imagining them reflected in a mirror.

"Earthborn or no, you still have an obligation to—" Uldren was cut off by the angry voice of Lyse.

"I was born in the Reef before the Matriarchy was even formed. I lived and died by the law of survival of the fittest. I had, and still have, no obligations to any bloodline this asteroid belt coughs up." _Port closed._ Sierra realized. Her eyes widened. _That sign wasn't on when we got here!_

She whirled around, eyes searching, hands shooting to her best knives, drawing them in a split second.

"Rogers? What—" again, Uldren was cut off. But not by Lyse.

By the wire rifle shot that soared over his shoulder as he turned, blasting past where his head had been mere moments before, to go through Lyse's chest.

Sierra's right knife flew. She aimed high, much higher than her target, and the blade arced through the air, whistling as it cut through nothing, to implant itself in the heart of the cloaked Vandal that had shot Lyse from the second floor, on the other side of the port.

Lyse collapsed backwards with a horrible gasp, and Sierra turned, charged, and tackled Uldren to the floor as several more guns went off, crossing fire where his head had been moments before.

"Ambush!" Padfoot yelled, before dissolving into her armor. _Gee, ya think!? They just killed Lyse!_

At least, she thought they had. Lyse _was_ a member of the Phoenixsong Order; she could heal herself even on the cusp of death, if she was right in the mind enough.

"Ravenwood!" Uldren shouted. She cast a brief glance at the downed Warlock, who lay gasping with blood blooming on her robes where the blow had struck. _Sorry Lyse; but not all of us can heal ourselves._ An Idea was forming in Sierra's head, but it would mean leaving the Warlock to fend for herself.

She leaped to her feet, taking out her hand cannon, and shot the shimmer of air she saw near the main entrance. Her mind was racing with ideas to escape, with plans deducing where they would be needed. This was a clever trap the Fallen had laid; kill the Prince and the Guardians, leave the Reef without its elite defenders heading the battle.

The Queen would be the primary target.

Making the split-second decision, she grabbed Uldren's shoulder, pulling him away from Lyse's side, where he'd been trying to stop the bleeding. Suddenly, more shimmers appeared from the main exit as he protested, and her eyes widened, body freezing.

 _That has to be at least twenty stealth fighters!_ The Prince saw the danger as well, and scrambled to his feet. She ran for the carrier. If they could get to Vesta-4 …

"Rogers, Lyse—"

"Can heal herself instantaneously with solar Light; _we_ can't!" Padfoot told him, materializing. Uldren, glaring and casting a final glance at Lyse, took out his hand cannon, and shot at the shimmers of air that were fast approaching as Padfoot flew to the carrier's controls while Sierra went to the window and shot at the approaching Fallen.

The carrier jerked to life.

"Quick! Get on!" Padfoot shouted to Uldren. The Fallen were upon them.

Uldren fired off one last shot, and jumped through the door, getting thrown off his feet as the electromagnets in the carrier and along the tunnel wall propelled them at speeds much faster than the average Sparrow.

There were several thumps along the exterior as they were sent along, and a clawed hand gripped the doorway as the tunnels sped past them. _Damn! They're on the carrier!_

She took out her close-combat knife, and moved to slice at the hand that gripped the doorway. Blade drew blood, and another clawed hand grabbed her wrist. The Fallen jerked and pulled at her, trying to throw her out the door or bring her down with it.

Uldren leant out the door, and shot it in the face, before ducking back in just in time to avoid a shock blade to the throat as another Fallen dropped from the top of the carrier and into the doorway. Sierra lunged, pushing her knife deep into its chest. This was where the true battle began. Excitement tingled through her blood, and her Light burned in anticipation. She'd wanted a chance to prove herself before they found out? Here was her chance, presented to her perfectly on a silver platter.

She heard stealth systems buzzing in her ear, and she whirled, flicking a new knife into her free hand as she did so, to throw it into the forehead of the Vandal that had crawled in through one of the windows as the one she'd stabbed fell out the door. The cloaking shattered, revealing House of Wolves colors. _Oh, Thrall spit; this is bad. This isn't just an attack! This could be a coup!_

"Oh dear. Does this fellow live here?" Padfoot commented worriedly as Uldren looked at the body with shock and rage written onto his features. Sierra noticed a shimmer behind the Ghost, and she let out a wordless shout of alarm.

She jumped forwards, grabbing Padfoot, and curling into a roll, shielding him as the blade swept through the air he'd been hovering in moments before. Uldren shot it in the chest, and she uncurled herself, looking down on the Ghost cupped in her hands worriedly.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it; I'll stay hidden." He replied, reading her face as easily as if she'd told him in the open. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

With that, he disappeared, and she sprung to her feet again as another Vandal broke in, this one larger(or so it seemed) than the rest. It struck fast, soon Uldren 's gun was knocked out of his hand, and he was lifted off his feet by the throat, the Vandal slamming his head into the wall once, before doing it again, trying to bash the Prince's brains out. _Oh, no you don't!_

Sierra channeled her light down her throwing arm, and let another blade fly, engulfed in flames. It struck the arm it held Uldren up by, and it dropped the Prince with a howl of pain. Uldren fell to the floor, retching, and the Vandal's cloaking flickered and faded as it frantically tried to pat the fire out, staggering backwards as the Huntress advanced with her combat knife.

Seeing her coming, and perhaps knowing it was going to die, it stabbed its blade into the console of the carrier, and swung it's other one down on her as she approached. She blocked the sword with her combat knife, and flicked a new handle into her palm from the reflex-triggered sheathe hidden under her gauntlet. This small dagger, she sent into his throat.

He collapsed with a gurgle as the carrier sped up. She staggered, getting thrown backwards as it jerked and sparks flew around them. Wires flew loose from the edges of the walls along the ceiling, and Uldren, still dazed, staggered and fell as he tried to get to the door. Padfoot materialized.

"I don't think I like this little metal box anymore!" She grabbed him and he dematerialized again. Uldren made it to the door, sticking his head out, and alarm flashed through her. What if he was so disoriented he tried to walk out while they were still moving? How hard had that Fallen hit him?

"Rogers! We have to jump!" he yelled over the increasing roar of the carrier's travel. _What!? Is he insane!?_

"Sierra! We're at Vesta! Jump!" Padfoot materialized again, yelling panicedly. She looked out the forwards window, to see the walls of the next port fast approaching. The top of the carrier hit the archway of the port, and Uldren half-jumped, half thrown out the door. Metal bent, and she tried to follow him, only for a twisted piece to catch on some part of her arm as the carrier went out of control.

"Sierr—" Padfoot was cut off as she grabbed him in her free fist and threw him out the door. Panic and terror burst through her skull as the carrier hit the ground, and the last thing she felt was pain as it slammed into the wall, and everything went dark.

* * *

The Fallen watched the transport speed away, several of their invisible compatriots clinging to the outside of it. The leader growled. Even if they failed; one of the Brightfangs was already dying. It lay gasping on the metal floor behind them.

He turned, and stalked up to the monster of the Light. His crew surrounded it. He took out his blade, and placed it at the Brightfang's throat. Its eyes opened slightly, weakly. The glow of the Awoken was fading them, a dull, flame-like color. Dark purple-red blood pooled on her chest and on the floor below her, and she gasped feebly for air, her lungs pierced through by the shot.

He laughed to himself. This was _too_ easy. He raised his blade over his head, prepared to bring it down on her throat.

Golden flamelight burst through the room, and he and all his crew could only stand frozen, transfixed with horrible wonder, Light bathing and burning them.

And fire engulfed them as the Brightfang sprang forth, blade in her hands, flames and light pouring out of her very skin. The metal where she stepped grew white-hot, and the fire danced with her as she swung her katana, cutting the leader Fallen down.

Still surrounded, she leapt, and impaled another Fallen through the chest as they all screamed and burned around her, her fire spinning outwards and engulfing them all until there was naught even ashes left to testify the enemy's existence.

Lyse took a deep breath, steadying and calming herself as her wound finished healing and the phantom pains faded away. As soon as they did, she called her fire back, and it obliged.

She looked down at her chest. The hole was still there, over her left lung. The blood had been evaporated by her fire, and the fabric was blackened where the shot had gone through.

"Foxtrot." the word was not question, answer, nor even a summons. Her Ghost appeared beside her, odd and staring and not a Ghost at all. His shell parted, and her robe's self-repair nanites kicked into overdrive.

The whole floor around her wasn't scorched. It was red hot, molten metal twisted in a glorious spiral around her. There was nothing she could do about the scarring except hope nobody recognized the patterns on the mountain half a system away. She suddenly became aware of someone standing near the main entrance, and her head snapped around.

The little girl, around five or six in age, mouth still hanging open, dropped her stuffed animal, still staring at Lyse in shock and wonder. The Warlock blinked, wondering what to do. She looked in the direction the carrier had gone in, and then back at the child.

"Eat your vegetables." she ordered, and walked off to another carrier, the girl's eyes following her the whole way.

* * *

 **Boom. Action. Just like I promised.**

 **Who was your favorite butt-kicker in this? Which did you like more; tram scene, or Lyse's vegetables? Lyse is part vegtable.**

 **Lice is an onion.**

 **Sovietshadow: Oh, don't you worry; I have a nuclear-level catastrophic space explosion planned for when Taniks gets his.**

 **jsm1978: Hehe. Poor Lice(I am never gonna let that 'lice' thing go, btw). I have never really seen Friends. Lyse is more the type to melt you into a puddle of organic magma than yell at you for stealing her sandwich.**

 **Still with the review drought? Man... What IS happening around here? I've noticed other fics getting less attention as well... You would think NaNoWriMo month would lead to an extra surplus of reviews and reading content... but while the stock market goes up, the fic market has crashed! I will take years to recover from the review debt this website is sinking into!**

 **... I need to go write a fanfiction about the fanfiction market now. It's stuck in my head as a senseless one-shot. But I might offend non-reviews. To post or not to post; that 'tis the question.**

 **Still, I hope you guys enjoyed the action starting up here! Things about to get dramatic, and the humor, unfortunately, is going to die down a little. This is a test of Silverhawk-less seriousness. I've gone full serious a few times in 15 Seconds, but never like this.**

 **What do you guys think of Sierra so far, now that we've gotten to know her through more than a few paragraphs of PoV? Love her, hate her? You have to admit,she's epic though, her and her knife fetish.**

 **Next Time: Martin wakes up, and Uldren gets slapped in the face.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	6. Of Twisted Metal and Blood

**Uldren- "Radius"- Hi-Finesse**

* * *

 _The crowd erupted into cheers as the duo finished singing "Wanted Dead or Alive", and a wide smile erupted on the young woman's features. Her closest friends, and family, sat in the front row, and her best friend, Mathew, was at her side with another guitar._

 _The two of them got up, and she handled her guitar with care, and they bowed before leaving the stage. Once behind the curtains, she let loose the excitement and nerves that had been trying to explode in her chest the whole time._

 _"Oh my gosh! I can't believe we actually did it!" she exclaimed, setting her guitar to lean against the wall gently. She held up her hands. "My hands are shaking! They're shaking Mathew! Do you think that messed up the song? Wait. Did it sound like my voice was shaking to you! Oh, no, it sounds all high-pitched now! I TOLD YOU THIS WOIULD HAPPEN! YOU KNOW THIS HAPPENS WHEN I GET NERVOUS!"_

 _"Relax, Sierra; you sounded fine!" he assured her with a chuckle. "Nobody sings better under pressure than you do, trust me, that's exactly why you sung a majority of it."_

 _She wrapped her arms around herself, biting her lip. What if the judges didn't share the same sentiment as Mathew did? This was High School, not Middle School; they were playing with the big dogs now. And big dogs played tough. There were Seniors who'd been singing and playing for much longer than they had._

 _Mathew gripped her shoulders, smiling softly. "Most girls can't pull off the right tones for that song, Sierra; if anything, they'll be knocked-dead impressed that you were able to strike the 'tough guy' note."_

 _She nodded uncertainly._

 _"I you say so…"_

 _And as it turned out… Mathew was right. They walked to the car that night carrying the second place trophy; it wasn't first, but it was a start. A start they were more than content with._

 _"Okay, who's up for pizza!?' He father asked as he, her mother, and all her friends walked towards the station wagon they'd been driven here in. Immediate 'I's across the board, as they all climbed in. Lesly, one of her other friends, tugged at her arm._

 _"You have got to teach us you secret, Sierra!" she begged._

 _"You've got a… a super voice, or something." Mike nodded. She blushed._

 _"Hey, what am I; chop liver?" Mathew asked as the car started up. Carry, Mike's girlfriend, nodded with a playful grin._

 _"Yup." She confirmed. Sierra pat him on the back sympathetically as he pouted._

 _"Don't worry; you're still my favorite sidekick." She reassured him. He looked up and huffed with mock anger, straightening up._

 _"Sidekick!? Sidekick! I prefer the words 'partner in crime'!" he protested. Giggles all around._

 _"Hey, guys—" Sierra was cut off by her mother's scream as they passed through the intersection. The next thing she knew, everything was chaos. Chaos, screaming, blood, metal ripping as the semi, whose driver had fallen asleep at the wheel, slammed into her family's car._

 _The next morning, all the headlines would be about the teenage survivor of a horrific traffic accident. People would marvel at how she lived, managed to continue on. But none of them would ever understand the agony of losing everything in one fell swoop. Of waking up surrounded by twisted metal and blood._

 _None of them would_ ever _understand._

* * *

She jerked with a small gasp, eyes flying open. The difference between now and then was that now, she was wearing battle armor, and her Light made her more resistant to injury. Pain rang through her body, which she supposed was good; it meant her spine wasn't broken. The only major source of agony was her shoulder; her left shoulder, the arm that the metal had caught on, preventing her escape.

"Rogers?" a voice call from somewhere beyond the twisted metal. She moved her head, looking around. She was lucky enough the door was near the back of the carrier; the front was flattened, a mass of twisted, bent metal. There was a bent support pole laying across her chest, and a ripped sheet of the wall pinned her bad arm to the floor. There was blood seeping from somewhere, from the bad arm. A crash, and twisted metal and blood.

Again.

From her vantage point, she couldn't see any other possibly major, life-threatening wounds on her person. _Then again, I could be in shock._

"Rogers!" the voice shouted again, more urgently this time. Male. Uldren. She let out a groan. _Ugh, Thrall spit I hate crashing things! Why can't I just survive something other than a wreck for once?_ She used her free hand to push the pole off of her chest, and heard footfalls fast approaching. She must have only been out for a few moments, at least. Her head was still pounding, fresh with pain, and she could feel blood trickling down her forehead.

"Sierra!" Padfoot exclaimed, zooming in through the door, which was now bent so the opening was half its original size. He swooped low over her, scanning her as she rolled over onto her side, slipped her hand under the sheet of metal, and tried to lift it off her arm to no avail; the other end of the sheet was pinned beneath much heavier metal. She would need Uldren's help to remove her trapped arm.

"Try to hold still; your shoulder's dislocated." Padfoot told her. _Yeah, I kind of figured that_. "Figures, it's the same one you pulled yesterday with that Minotaur thing. I told you, you should've rested you shoulder!"

She looked up patiently at Uldren as he managed to get through the collapsed door. His eyes locked on her, and she blinked, tipping her head at the metal trapping her arm. For a few moments, it seemed as if he didn't know what to make of her.

"Damn it Rogers, you're supposed to sound off!" he snapped at her. She ignored this. "How am I supposed to know if your dead or not?"

"Her shoulder's dislocated!" Padfoot announced. Uldren, crouching in the cramped conditions, shut his mouth with a fuming expression, and made his way over to her silently.

"Why didn't you jump?" he questioned, grabbing the edges of the metal.

"Her arm got stuck; I told you!" Padfoot countered. She nodded.

"I asked _her_ , not _you_." The Prince sneered at the Ghost. Sierra glared at him. _Ought to watch how you talk to a Guardian's Ghost, Prince._

"What, you don't believe me?" Padfoot gasped exasperatedly. Uldren lifted the metal, and she worked her arm out, ignoring the pain that lanced through it with the movement.

"Oh, I believe you." She was starting to dislike his tone. "I just thought it might be nice to get an actual answer from Rogers, instead of her Ghost. Last time I checked, you don't speak for her."

Her arm was free. Which meant she was free to give him a sensible slap across the face with her uninjured hand. She couldn't help the satisfaction that flashed through her at the shocked look on his face. Perhaps it was rude; he'd just helped her. But _nobody_ talked to Padfoot like that, let alone a snobby Prince.

"Rogers!?" he exclaimed, on the floor, eyes wide with shock as she glared down on him. She got up as much she could in the tight quarters, good hand resting on Padfoot's shell, and worked her way out of the carrier. Relief like a burst of fresh air after days of traveling in a desert washed over her as she left the closed-in space.

The pain in her arm and shoulder wasn't going away, not any time soon. She looked down at the damage. The wire weave was ripped along the side of her arm, blood trickling down from the long, but thankfully not too deep, wound. She sat down on the rubble of the carrier, taking out the med pack on her bet, and was starting to bind the wound when Uldren emerged.

He glared at her as if he could set her on fire if he tried hard enough. _He can try all he wants; unless he's attempting to cauterize this cut, it'll get us nowhere._ She was on her own so often, she'd gotten good at tending herself one-handed. Her arm was wrapped in a matter of small minutes, and she used the remaining length of bandage to create a makeshift sling for her arm, ignoring the pain that shot through the point of dislocation with the action.

When she was finished, she looked up to meet his gaze steadily. Two could play at the glaring game; and she played defiance better than anyone. Then something caught her eye; a sort of display on the Prince's wrist. It was blinking and beeping softly.

"Um, Uldren?" Padfoot started, breaking the awkward silence. His eyes snapped towards the Ghost. "What's that beacon thing on your wrist?"

He looked down at the display. Then he looked up, alarm and fear mixed on his features.

"The Crows!" he exclaimed, turning and running. Sierra bit back a groan, getting to her feet. What _was it_ with this guy and the _running_!?

* * *

"It has something to do with them. I know it!" Inigo declared vehemently pounding a fist in his palm. His glare was directed at a pair of Wolf guards, who were talking casually to each other near a door in the marketplace below. "The question… it what?"

His two 'companions', who were really just dragged along for the ride, looked at each other witheringly.

 _"I should knock him out."_ Havicks growled to himself in Eliksni. Korik growled back.

 _"Harm a Brightfang? Awoken and Variks would be displeased. There is obviously something wrong with this one. We must not harm him if he has already been injured."_

 _"I see no wounds on him."_

 _"Some wounds cannot be seen. Perhaps he hit his head? Would explain his memory problem."_

"Is there something you two want to share?" Inigo asked curiously.

"No." Havicks told him gruffly, glaring at him. Korik's comms flickered to life.

 _"Korik, are you with Havicks?"_ came Variks' voice, also speaking their native tongue. He sounded urgent.

 _"Yes."_ He replied quietly, so as not to attract the attention of the Warlock. Havicks didn't notice either.

 **"There is… missing Brightfang. Wears red robes, has green eyes. Martin. He has been injured in the head, and believes himself to be someone he is not. Am searching the outpost for him."** The other scribe informed him. Korik blinked. _I supposed that answers the question of_ who _this Human is._

"We have found him. Can you follow our signal?" he told his housemate.

 **"Yes, yes! Good. Will be there soon; keep him from further harm. Petra and I will come for him… Petra is very mad at him."** There was noticeable relief in his voice as he spoke, and the comms turned off. Korik looked at the Human at a new way.

This was the Brightfang that Variks spoke so fondly of? Himself and Havicks, though Variks' housemates, didn't spend a lot of time with him. He was strange, even by Eliksni standards. Fascinated with machinery, always experimenting; he spent more time in his lab tinkering with some device or another, than he did speaking in general.

He wasn't a Splicer; but someone had forgotten to tell him that. Or they had, and he hadn't cared. He was strange; he always had been. He'd had minimal social life, and his obsessions with his projects were sometimes unhealthy.

And then along came the day in which he'd excitedly refused to stop talking about an odd Brightfang he'd encountered, when the Reef was being plagued by the disease. And then again, several weeks afterwards. He'd proudly declared Martin a _friend_ , much to the shock of Korik and Havicks, who had only ever seen him so fond of a project before. Variks had Housemates, allies, ideas, and secrets, but never had he openly declared to have made a friend before.

Korik was pretty sure Martin's true nature was not that of this weirdo Warlock ranting in an odd accent. At least, he hoped so.

"Perhaps we should search near the lifts?" he suggested. Variks and Petra would likely be coming from the lower levels; it would be easier for them to get Martin if he was at the elevator they came out of.

The Human looked at him thoughtfully. Havicks looked at him with confusion; he hadn't heard the conversation with Variks.

"An excellent idea! Come now, where is it?" the Warlock asked in that same, strange accent. Korik lead the way down a nearby ally, where the elevators were. He didn't notice the Wolves look up at the second floor, where the three had been standing.

 _I hope Variks gets here soon._ He thought as they approached the elevator, the Warlock rambling on about some Human with six fingers, and swords, and—

 _Thunk._

Martin collapsed to the ground, falling forwards, as Havicks punched him in the back of the head.

"Why did you do that!" Korik roared angrily at his housemate.

"He is _mad_! I could not tolerate his ranting anymore!" Havicks snarled back. Korik gestured to the Warlock with his lower hands.

"That is Martin! Variks' Martin! He contacted me back near the markets; this Brightfang was injured on the head, you fool! Variks will _maul_ you for this!" he barked angrily. _Curse Havicks and his compulsive ways!_

The hostile scribe shifted uneasily, but did not apologies as Korik crouched down and rolled the unconscious Warlock onto his back. He relaxed slightly upon realizing that Martin was at least still breathing. Now that that fierce look was off his face, he looked quite innocent.

He lifted his head as the elevator beeped. _Odd. It should have taken Variks a little longer to get here..._

Martin groaned. Korik looked down on him worriedly as his eyes flickered open. Fear scent rose from him almost immediately.

"W-where's the Huntress?" he sputtered, jerking upright, rubbing his head. Korik reared back, and cast a glare at the smug Havicks. _You are lucky he is Brightfang, friend, or he would be dead..._

"What Huntress?" Korik asked. The Warlock's panic and fear were mounting by the moment, and something told Korik that Inigo wasn't around anymore. His fear was understandable; he likely had no memory of the events that had occurred recently.

"The one I was-I-I have to-I need to find who's in charge h-here, on t-the outpost!" he stuttered. He grimaced, gripping his head, almost in tears now. "Why does my head hurt so much?"

"Be calm. Petra Venj is in command here." he placed a lower hand on the young Human's shoulder, trying to calm him down. Nothing good would come of having a panic attack. "She is coming right now. What is it you must tell her?"

Green eyes looked Korik and Havicks up and down. "Y-you're with the House of Judgment. You don't like the W-Wolves?"

"Not particularly." Korik answered cautiously. Since the House of Judgment had played a prominent part in the Wolves' downfall, they held a grudge with all members of the House, not just Variks.

"The Wolves are traitors. T-they're going to rebel! I saw a Royal Guard talking to a free Baron." The Warlock's voice quaked as he spoke, whole body shaking with fear now that he'd noticed the clock on the wall at the other end of the hall. Unbeknownst to Korik and Havicks, he read it as having been three hours since he'd approached the blond Huntress.

Korik felt dread sink its claws into him. The elevator doors opened.

And the enemy Eliksni rushed forwards, sinking their blade through Korik's back.

* * *

 **If you didn't like Sierra before, she's just become the hero to all Uldren-haters.**

 **My, my; much drama in this chapter. Oh, just you wait; the next one is even better...**

 **jsm1978: Oooo, you hear that Sierra; you're 'is favorite! I'm glad you like her. But... I think auto-correct fussed up your review. You called Lyse "Luke". Lyse Ravenwood, I am your father!**

 **Order and Chaos: Not so much HoW, just... you know how there are like, fifty fics where the campaign is detailed, but never the events and effects of the original Wolf uprising? I spiced it up a little by haveing one part of the Wolves regrow in the outside world, while the Reef Wolves were clueless, until... well, this. You gotta pay attention in the other fics to get where I'm coming from. Not to say I won't cover the Skolas hunt; there'll be some of that in 15 Seconds, along with some more Sierra, Uldren, and Lyse. Though, mostly Sierra and Uldren. And I wrote the scene like, his head WAS there, past tense. I guess some people got confused... And like I said; probably no RoI continuation. I vaugly considered ONCE, a Destiny 2 continuation, except it took place WAY into the futur, with little Andal Larsen as the star. Still not sure where I stand on that; I guess I need to finish this series and figure that out. Hmmm... the Iron Wolves? I GUESS you can say she might have done something to them... As you can see, Lyse is INCREDIBLY dangerous. She just incinerated like, twenty Fallen. WHILE REGENERATING. That's like a Time Lord blowing up Daleks, tricking Weeping Angles, and banishing Vasta Nerada all at the same time... WHILE REGENERATING! My head canon for Hunter Knife impossible penetration, is that Hunters have figured out a way to use their light to drive their striking fist forwards at incredible speeds, and that that ONE knife you ALWAYS USE is made from super-science space-y material that works with that Light. And I had ANY idea what language that is, I would put it through google translate. Plus... Texas? What? You know what, that STINKS of This Is Sarcasm or Amberstar. Then again, I don't know if Sarcasm even had a profile, so meh.**

 **Sovietshadow: The reviews and updates were flowing fine when school started... the REAL shortage started after the election. And MAYBE** **Variks will be feeling generous enough to share...**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: I had a feeling people would love the vegtable thing, lol. Plus, have YOU SEEN THE GotG2 TRAILER! _BABY GROOT IS MY EVERYTHIIIIIIIIING!_ I love nonwords. I make my career off of nonwords. I'm glad you like Sierra... and Amberstar started a series of absolutely frabjous Mass Effect one-shots(Legion and his pet kitty #1). People are calling for Tali'Zorah and the Trench Coat Full of Bees next. You've started a fad. Next thing we know, "trench Coat full of bees" is going to be on every t-shirt in every shop in America... QUICK! LETS SPREAD IT TO ANOTHER FANDOM!**

 **Guest: I bet Amberstar that at least one person would call Sierra that, LoL. Five bucks to me, yay! I was a Hunter first, too!**

 **I am SO glad that Rogers is getting such a popular reception! Like I said, she's still a baby in this universe. I've been planning Lyse since before Fever was finished, and all the other characters have had a lot of development since March. I came up with Sierra fairly late in the game, and she was really kind of an emergency placement when I decided that I wanted Lyse, but I also needed a regular Guardian around for Uldren. Someone who isn't A) borderline crazy, B) possibly the most mysterious and malevolent villain in the fandom, C) has a weak personality(as much as we all love Martin, he is SUCH a literal looser sometimes). It actually feels a little good to write what the fandom might call a 'real Guardian' like Sierra.**

 ***sigh* We're almost at the end of the year. Remember _Fever_? He, I'ma re-read the WHOLE dang thing tonight, I'm feeling nostalgic. It's weird to think that was only this March. I was a looser fanfic writer early this year. You know what? In your review, if you were one of the original "legacy" readers, the one's who were around for Fever, type in the number of chapters you remember being there when you first joined this crazy ride. If you can't remember, it's okay; just curious to see how many people have stuck with me since the begining.**

 **Next Time: Martin, Variks, and Petra _feels galore_. Grab your tissues, and hide in a bathroom if you have to.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	7. Of Death and Visions

**Lyse: "Shadow of the Walker"- Rise of Iron Soundtrack**

* * *

Variks stood stock still, and Petra nearly ran into him. It hadn't taken long for her to recover from the shell-shock of what 'Martin' had done. When she found 'Inigo', she was going to gut punch him _so hard_ he'd have internal bleeding.

Of course, poor Martin, when he woke up, _if_ (oh, she hoped he woke up) he woke up, would probably be very hurt, not just physically, but emotionally, upon discovering she hit him so hard. She could imagine the betrayed look on his sweet little face righ- _STOP THAT!_

How many time had she had to stop her thoughts in their track like that recently? Too much.

"Variks? What?" she asked irritably. He stood tensely, head tipped to the side, as if he were listening.

Then, she heard it too.

The sound of a _terrified_ Human, and _angry_ Fallen. Was it too much to hope it was just Variks' Housemates getting a little too rough for the easily-frightened Warlock? But... Inigo didn't seem the type to scare easily...

Again, the unmistakable scream of Martin Anton rang through the air. _Space urchins!_

Her and Variks ran as fast as they could, storming up the stairs to the second floor. They turned a corner in time to see Martin whirl around, the look of fear etched into his features too Martin-ish for it to be Inigo Montoya. His hand shot out as a large House of Wolves Fallen with shock blades leapt to cut him to pieces.

Light sparked, crackled and failed in the palm of his hands, the energy releasing in a powerful burst that didn't look like it should have, sending both combatants flying, Martin screaming in pain. Petra drew her sidearm, anger coursing through her, and Variks snarled in fury.

The scribe rushed forwards before she could aim and shoot, and he blocked the blades of the other Fallen with his upper arms, metal scraping metal, the enemy warrior's four eyes widening when they realized Variks' arms hadn't been chopped off. He used his upper hands to grab the blades and wrench them out of their grasp, and sucker punched them with one lower hand while using the other to draw his shock pistol and shoot Martin's pursuer in the chest thrice.

Petra ran over to where Martin was crouched on the ground, holding his arm close to his chest, watching with wide, terrified eyes. There was no doubt in her mind, she knew even without asking, that the real Martin was back where he belonged.

"T-they're-a-a-all of them r-rebell-"

"I know." she told him grimly, placing a hand on his shoulder, concern prickling through her. Revenge on Inigo could wait; he looked _dreadful_. He was pale, shaky, and his hand was bloodied and burned from his botched attempt at defending himself. Variks came up beside her. She felt the urge to tell him to back off, to give the Warlock space to breathe, but something stopped her when the Vandal reached over and pat Martin's arm with a sympathetic chittering noise rumbling in his throat.

Something like shame flashed through Martin's gaze, and his mouth opened and closed uselessly. He was in too much of a shock to speak properly; she had to get him to Faroth and away from here, and she had to issue an outpost-wide alert. She squeezed his shoulder.

"Try to calm yourself down. Variks, I'm going to get him to Faroth, find your housemates and make sure there are no more Wolves lurking around here. If you find any... well, you _are_ the warden." she told the scribe, giving him free reign to do what must be done. She still had her misgivings about trusting him completely, but Martin needed medical treatment and now was not the time to be picky about who her allies were.

Was it just her, or did his shaking and choked words increase at the mention of Variks' housemates? Variks hesitated, before patting his friend's arm once more and getting up, growling at the confiscated shock blade he still held in one upper hand before heading off down the corridor.

Petra got up along Martin's side, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and led him to his feet, her free hand resting on her sidearm as she prompted the shaking Warlock down the halls.

"It'll be okay." she tried to reassure him. "You've got nothing to be afraid of now, nothing is going to hurt you, I promise."

She nearly lost her footing as he tried to bury his face in her shoulder, vicious sobs raking his body. She wrapped both arms around him tightly, steadying him. She felt rotten that she'd even _considered_ punching him. He was overwhelmed, hurt, and terrified. If there ever was a time she actually _wished_ his overly-hyper sister where here, it was now; Silverhawk knew him, knew how calm him down.

"Hey, hey. Shush, it'll be fine. You're _you_ , Martin. You got here, you told us, that's what counts. You're _safe_. Let someone else handle the extra dangerous parts that you couldn't get to." she told him gently. 'Gentle' wasn't really a strong suite of hers, but she could try as best she could.

He whimpered incoherently into her shoulder. She closed her eye. She moved her hand, pressing her fingers to his neck. His skin was cold as ice, and felt clammy. That left no questions; he was in shock, through and through, and she could waste no more time in getting him to Faroth before he succumbed to it.

"Come on." she urged him, pushing him back. She put her hand on his forehead, confirming what was wrong with him. "You're going to be alright. Just... follow my lead, okay?"

* * *

Variks stared blankly at the scene before him. Dread had been rising inside of him ever since they found Martin _alone_ , with no sight of his two housemates. He'd just found them

Dead. In a hallway covered in blood. Korik lay with one arm ripped off, a shock blade still sticking out of his chest. Havicks looked as if he'd died fighting to the last breath, mutilated almost beyond recognition, two dead Wolves on the ground nearby him. Variks had found only one other Wolf in the halls.

It looked as if Havicks had died giving Martin time to run. His legs felt weak, and Variks sank to his knees, pain ripping through his chest. An anguished grinding noise tore through his throat.

He was the last. He was welly, truly the last now. _Why did Martin not tell me of this?_

Part of him was blood-rage furious his so-called 'friend' hadn't told him his housemates were dead. But a larger part of him remembered how broken the Warlock had looked, how he could barely utter a word. That larger part was also now terrified that a shell-shocked Martin and a lone Petra were currently wandering an outpost filled with traitorous Wolves who would certainly _love_ to see the look on Variks' face if they killed his friend.

That larger part of him told him to get up, to run back to then before it was too late to defend them.

But grief demanded it's share first. Greif _always_ demanded it's share first. Variks let out a roar of anguish that made his throat hurt. _Wolves will PAY! IN BLOOD! They will DIE for what they have done here! They will DIE for killing my housemates! They will DIE for harming Martin! They. WILL. DIE! BY_ MY _CLAWS!_

He felt like he'd just been docked. Eliksni didn't do 'family'; not in the way Awoken and Humans did. He barely remembered his matron; he didn't know who his sir was. He had no attachment to them. An Eliksni's House was their family; at least, that was what it had been like in the House of Judgment, what it had been like in the days of old before the Whirlwind.

The Wolves had killed his family. They'd butchered his House on their own Ketch so many years ago, and now they'd butchered all that was left.

He stood up shakily. There was no end to the rage he felt right now. No end to the vengeful desires in his heart. No end to the void yawning in his chest, trying to eat him from the inside, trying to consume him with the loneliness that came with being the last. The very last.

He needed Martin. He needed Petra. He _had_ to go to them. He couldn't _not_. He needed his friends. Petra's passive aggressiveness towards him had faded in the weeks since the Black Garden incident. He'd grown fond of her. And Martin… he was hurt… he'd come to warn them, but hadn't done it in time. All because of a silly hit to the head. He probably felt _terrible_.

Casting one last look at his dead housemates, the last living member of the House of Judgment left.

* * *

Martin lay on the bed, eyes closed, glasses folded and placed on the table beside him. He was sleeping, calm, with a cloth folded under his head. According to Faroth, the cloth used certain frequencies that made it safe for the Warlock to sleep despite the blows to his head, and several blankets were laid over him.

Petra had issued an outpost-wide alert. Wolves were attacking throughout now, and they had, disturbingly, lost contact with Vesta-4 and all other parts of the Web. To make matters worse, someone had sabotaged the mag tram system. They were completely cut off until ships could get through to Vesta.

She entered the infirmary to see Faroth standing over Martin, finishing wrapping the Warlock's hand in bandages. The sleep was supposed to help calm him down, and give his body time to recover from the shock. He looked up, and his brow creased in confusion when he saw what she was holding.

"What's with the animal?" he asked. Petra looked down at the white cat in her arms. She'd been issuing orders for ships to go to Vesta and alert them to the situation, and had found the Warlock's ship docked. Several people had complained of inhuman screaming coming from the vessel, which turned out to be Peppermint yowling. Petra had poured her a can of cat food, but upon the emissary leaving, the creature had started screaming again.

"She's Martin's. I got her some food, but when I left she started yowling. I didn't want people to think someone was being murdered on his ship." She explained, rubbing the cat under the chin with her thumb. She came up next to the bed. "How is he?"

"He doesn't have any serious injuries. He's got a minor concussion, and the burns on his hand are fairly bad, but other than that, he'll be fine soon enough now that the shock had faded away. I have to say, I'm surprised he recovered so quickly; I heard Guardians heal fast, but this is unbelievable. Even while I was treating him, there were signs of healing from his burns." Faroth told her, resting a hand on Martin's shoulder.

Peppermint wriggled in her grip, and jumped down on Martin's bed. She stalked on top of his chest, curled up, and proceeded to lick her chest fur.

"I really disapprove of animals in the ward." Faroth chided. Petra shrugged.

"I can't keep her with me. And besides; she might do him some good when he wakes up."

He looked a deal less pale, and when she touched him, his skin was warmer than it had been before. He was recovering. She heard a chittering behind her, near the door, and turned to see Variks leaning against the doorway. He looked exhausted, shoulders hunched, head hung low, and alarm bells went off in her head. Something had gone wrong.

She dismissed herself from Martin's bedside, making a b-line for the scribe.

"What did you find?" she asked. He raised his head to look at her dully. Fallen facial expressions were hard to read; Variks' kind usually got more social information from smells than the look on someone's face. But the anguish in his expression was unmistakable.

"They are dead." The grief in his voice only reflected the look on his face.

"Who?" she inquired gently. _Everyone_ was high on emotions today, weren't they?

"Korik and Havicks. Wolves mauled them." Anger entered his voice. "I am the last of my House. Skolas will DIE for having them killed."

She sighed. _It seems the Wolves are dealing damage wherever they can. To whomever they can._ She put a hand on his shoulder.

"First we have to regain control of the Reef." She told him. "We need Uldren to get the crows up and flying, we need to get the Wolves out."

Variks nodded, head lowering again.

"Is Martin well?" he asked, rattling voice low. She'd never heard a Fallen this subdued before.

"He'll be fine soon. Guardians heal fast." She told him. "His Ghost was happy to have him back."

Wheatly was currently hiding in her pocket, refusing to leave even upon hearing Martin was back. She'd known the Ghost was paranoid, but honestly, if he were organic, she's say he needed a psych evaluation.

"Good." Variks rasped, nodding slightly, still not looking up. He moved past her, and sat himself down on a crate of still unremoved supplies in the corner of the room. He pressed his head against the wall with a low growl, closing his eyes.

Petra sighed worriedly, running a hand through her hair. She'd never seen Variks like this. Or any Fallen, for that matter. This attack had broken him, and all that could be done was hope that he pulled through his grief. Hopefully the prospect of vengeance would keep him going strong, at least for a while.

She felt a twinge in her bad eye, and she left for the bathroom. Closing the door, she took her eye cover off, pushed her hair back behind her ear, and leant towards the mirror, rubbing her eye. Examining it, she found nothing wrong. Well, other than the fact it had been sliced through by shrapnel, anyway. It was just phantom pains. She put her cover back on, fixed her hair, and clapped a hand on the back of her neck with a sharp gasp as a dull throb pierced through the base of her spine.

And the throbbing gradually began to worsen. She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror as she realized what was happening. _No, not here! Not_ now _!_ She ran out of the bathroom. Variks sat up.

"Petra? Why do I smell your fear?" he queried. She had to get out of here. She had to get to her home, to where her list was.

"No time to talk right now, Variks!" she ran past him and out of the infirmary, not checking to see if she was being followed. The throbbing was growing into a crippling rhythm of agonizing war drums pounding up her spine to her skull. _Have to get to the list!_

Most of the time, this was out of thought, out of mind. But when it did happen… it was the most painful experience in her entire life. Every moment leading up to the actual vision part of the process was spent in terrified, horrified dread of the agony that was to come with the pictures. Every time she had a vision, she started dying. She usually snapped out of it when her heart was on the cusp of stopping.

This only added to the terror of the process; not knowing if the vision would stop in time for her to survive.

She threw her door open, and rushed to her room, where the desk was. She tore open the drawer, and pulled out the list. She set it on the desk as the vision hit, and she screamed, collapsing to the floor.

Rogers laying in a pool of blood. Still fighting. Still shooting. In the throne room of the palace.

Prince Uldren screaming in anguish. The Queen dead on the floor.

Rogers skewered on a spear.

Rogers dead beneath a pile of rubble.

Rogers strangled on loose wires.

Uldren dead on the floor. The Queen was the one screaming this time.

Too many possibilities. Too many ways to die…

Lyse outlined in fire.

Lyse dead, sinking into icy water, blood clouding around her.

Lyse dead in the snow.

Lyse killing Uldren.

Too many… too many…

"How many times do I have to kill you, oh elusive crow mine?"

* * *

Faroth walked into his ward, a bowl of cool water in his hands for Martin's cat. It didn't have a friendly disposition, but the animal was probably thirsty. He set it on the ground beside Martin's bed, and the white feline let out a mew as she jumped down.

He could vaguely remember Petra carrying this same cat into his lab on the _Cirrus_ during the quest for the cure; what felt like a lifetime ago. He looked at Martin. To think, he would ever have seen this Warlock again? He turned to leave; there was a crisis going on, the Fallen were attacking, and communications were down. Anyone could come in with and injury at a moment's notice, and none of his nurses had reported in.

"He… knows…" Faroth's head snapped around at the Warlock's horrified whisper.

"Martin?" he rushed to the young man's side, and shook him lightly.

"He knows…" the Warlock murmured again. Green eyes flickered open for just a fraction of a second before he rolled over onto his side and went still again, the terrified tension in his body relaxing once more, Faroth still resting one hand on the Human's shoulder.

His brow creased in concern, and he decided to run a few more scans. Nightmares shouldn't happen in a mind that was as deeply unconscious as Martin's.

* * *

 **Giving to you; ultra-feels. And believe it or not, certain upcoming chapters will be even worse.**

 **jsm1978: It'll be interesting to see how you react to the next chapter... unless you've already guessed her problem.**

 **Guest:Like I said; I literally thought up the most cliché thing I could, and I had watched Princess bride recently, and thought it would be funny if Martin became Inigo, the exact opposite of Martin.**

 **Order and Chaos: It took place in some time in the 1960's or seventies; the station wagon I imagined as being a Buick Sport Wagon. Just because it's classy. Hmm. It seems we have our first Sovgers shipper. I welcome you. Amber's still rooting for team Crowwood, simply because Lyse and Uldren hate each other and it amuses her. Yeah, I decided that humanity with a tripled lifespan, plus Guardians not aging, and such a small city and Reef, the populations of both "safe havens" would go through frequent periods of overpopulation and famine. So technically, the set-up in-game is unsustainable. I decided to have normal lifespans and mix up the order of events a bit, simply because I just didn't know what to do with Dark Below, so I had it happen before Fever. Oh, and to answer your request to use Ethan and Alf, sure; I'll try to give you their psych profiles soon. Lyse is specially dangerous because in this continuity, most Sunsingers don't have the kind of power she does. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned some heavy limitations; learning to heal yourself takes years of practice for most, even more so to heal others, and attack like she did when she was still healing that wound would have taken an exceptional amount of concentration and mental capabilities, not to mention the strain on her Light from preforming two tasks at once. I've considered a sword right with Sierra and Saviks. I could add in the six fingers thing and have Padfoot say a catchy one-liner. Believe it or not, when I first thought this up, Martin WAS going to fight someone. But I needed him back to Martin, and there was really no place for Inigo beyond a certain point, though I've considered posting the alternate scene. AHHH! Now I see the Texas! Ha, that's great, LoL.**

 **Wheytel: Be not guilty my friend; we're all nerdy authors here. The internet 'tis our sanctum.**

 **Whew, I'm pushing out chapters in record time! I don't think I've posted this frequently since Fever! Poor EVERYONE is having a bad day in this chapter. I'm not sure if next chapter qualifies as feels or not, but it certainly is revealing. We've got that Ahamkara speak again. I'm going to be honest and say that you guys are probably going to FLIP OUT when you find out who it is. NO it is not Toland or Osiris or anyone cliché like that.**

 **That would be boring. Let's just say... they're someone new, but you know their name. They ARE a canon character; it's something I pride myself on, the use of canon characters.**

 **I'm looking forwards to another possible snow day! If it happens, I'll see you all over Christmas break!**

 **Next Time: Uldren finds out about Sierra complications, and Padfoot makes him put his foot in his mouth.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	8. Of Poison and Voices

**A Hunter's Vow(Fufilled): "Fate's Compass"- Audiomachine**

* * *

Sierra, panting, came to a halt as Uldren slowed down. They had run through a strange set of hallways; empty, for some reason. She would never have thought any place in the Awoken capitol to be empty. Then again, these halls were out of the way in a strange sort of way, and there were so many passages and forks in the paths it felt like a maze; a maze that Uldren obviously knew quite well.

 _He mentioned the Crows; could these mazes lead to some sort of secret Reef training ground?_ It felt that way, and looked that way, judging by Uldren's reaction to the beacon. Now, they were outside a plain, small door. A door that had a body near it. The corpse lay reaching towards the panel on the wall outside. A sickly foam still trailed form the corner of their mouth.

They had been poisoned.

"Rogers, stay back." She glared at him, and unsheathed her knife in defiance. His glare met hers angrily. "You forget; _I_ am you commanding officer now. You are wounded and therefore useless in a fight. There are Reef secrets beyond this door. You. Will. Stay."

There was extra venom in that first part. _Still bitter about getting slapped by a girl._ The useless part stung more than she let herself feel. She was perfectly capable of fighting with one arm. If he thought being down an _arm_ made her useless…

She could only imagine the spite when he found out.

 _Fine then. You don't want me._ She thought bitterly, sheathing her knife and backing away with a furious glare. _Go get yourself killed. Let's see how useless I am when you're overrun…_

It was grim thinking, but there was little else to think. Turning, he left her alone in the hall, entering the room. She let out a sigh, running her hand over her face. Looking up, she froze. Had that body just _moved_? Were they still _alive_!? She was at their side in an instant. She leant down to check for a pulse…

"SIERRA, DON'T!" Padfoot materialized in front of her, and buzzed into her neck full force. She reeled backwards, shocked and gagging.

"Look, look what he was reaching towards!" He indicated the panel. It had a gas mask symbol on it. The door behind her suddenly slammed shut, and she heard shouting inside. "I just did a quick scan; there some sort of toxic gas hanging over the floor. You should be fine so long as you keep your head up, but—"

She'd heard enough. She jerked the panel open, grabbed a mask, and put it on. Just in case, she slipped it over the head on the man of the floor. Checking his pulse, she found he still had a faint heartbeat, and she dragged him away from the door, laying him flat on his back and loosening the collar of his wire weave armor.

"The concentration is lesser just outside the door; that must be why he's still alive." Padfoot commented. _Not for long, if he doesn't get help._ "I'll monitor him; you get Uldren."

She ran back to the panel, grabbed another mask, and tried to open the door. She could hear gunfire now. She pulled on the handle. _Damn! The Fallen must have done this! They must have done something to the door!_

She backed up, and kicked it. The only result was that her foot hurt. She took out her longest knife, and lit it on fire with her Light, pumping flames into the blade until it was hotter than anything she'd ever set alight. She shoved it in the crack between the door and the wall, and slid it down, just like the credit card trick, as the gunfire ceased. Soon afterwards, there was a dull thump on the door, and then another, duller, before all sound ceased entirely.

She brought the blade inwards, melting through the lock completely, and opened the door. There were dead Fallen near it. And even more dead Awoken. _They must have flooded the room with poison…_ Crows lay dead all over the place, more bodies than she could count. The House of Wolves had just killed out the Awoken's greatest weapon.

Uldren lay near the door, gasping for breath, and she leant down hurriedly to slip the mask over his head. Movement caught her eye, and her knife was in her hand again. She brought it up just in time to counter the knife that had been thrown at her.

She retaliated by dropping her long knife, flicking a throwing handle into her hand faster than the eye could blink, and moving her arm in an arc, releasing the throwing knife. It planted itself in the Vandal's forehead, and her enemy collapsed with a gurgle. She picked up her long knife, sheathed it, and helped Uldren to his feet. _Who's useless_ now _, huh?_

Once the staggering, coughing Prince was safe in the hallway she pulled the door shut, and wielded it shut with another flaming knife. Panting, she wiped the sweat off her forehead and fought back a flash of dizziness. She'd never gone that hot twice in a row before; her Light was strained, and needed to be rested before she used it again. If a Guardian used their Light too much in one sitting, they passed out; she couldn't afford to go down from Light exhaustion right now, of all times.

"What's with him?" Uldren asked breathlessly, voice broken with coughing, as he gestured to the unconscious Crow on the floor.

"He's still alive." Padfoot told him, still hovering over the Awoken where Sierra had left him. Uldren pushed himself up against the wall, recovering his breath. Sierra looked on in silence, leaning against the wall, waiting patiently, putting the situation together in her head while he recovered.

 _Taking out the Crows; cripple the Awoken's elite force. Silence their intelligence network. Kill the Prince, and either set the Queen on a warpath, or disable her temporarily with his loss, if she survives. Kill the Guardians, the ones better at killing Fallen than anyone else. They'll probably go after Variks; for revenge, or to silence a source of Fallen intel. Petra as well. They'll probably already be on guard, if Lyse warned them._ That was, assuming the Warlock had managed to heal herself. Something told Sierra she had.

"Damn the Wolves." Uldren suddenly spat, breath wheezing in his chest. She blinked in surprise at the emotion in his voice. Grief? It was in his eyes as well. She blinked in sympathy, but offered no counsel to him. She remembered when Lyse was shot, how he'd been reluctant to leave even the foul-tempered Warlock behind wounded.

Maybe he _did_ care about something, other than his sister. Countless people under his command had just died. Maybe he cared about the people under his command, even Lyse. Then again, even the most cold-hearted solder would be upset if nearly every man under their command was killed in such a way, all at once.

Suddenly, the whole of Vesta rocked and shook. Sierra stopped leaning on the wall, listening intently, and staggered when a violent shake nearly threw her off her feet. Something was exploding. Uldren staggered to his feet.

"Mara!" he gasped. "They're attacking in earnest, she'll be targeted the most!"

"Um, you can barely walk." Padfoot pointed out. The prince glared at him.

"I didn't ask for your _opinion_!" he snapped, voice laced with every ounce of rage he was probably feeling. He looked, glaring, from Padfoot to Sierra. "Follow me or not; I'm protecting my sister."

Staggering only a little, he ran off again. She glanced at the Crow on the ground. He was breathing a little stronger, now she could see the faint rise and fall of his chest.

"I've activated an enhanced distress beacon, but I wouldn't advise leaving him alone until a med team gets here." Padfoot told her, reading her expression. _But I can't let the Prince of the Reef charge off into battle alone in the state he's in, either._

Making a split second decision, and silently apologizing to the unconscious man, she ran after Uldren before he got too far into the maze of corridors, and Padfoot heaved a sigh, glancing back at the man one last time before zooming after her.

* * *

"Petra?" he queried, shaking her shoulder lightly, terror pulsing through him. She was on the floor, spasms rolling up her back, jerking and twitching as if she were having some sort of seizure. Her single eye was moving wildly, as if seeing things he couldn't see, and she wasn't breathing.

It was bad enough that Martin was hurt and his housemates were dead. But the sight before Variks was the most horrific thing he'd seen today. He crouched at her side, lower hands resting on her arm, and he looked around desperately for some form of help. He'd seen this before. _This happened on mars. But I destroyed artifact, and she recovered. How could this happen_ here _?_

There were no artifacts to be seen in Petra's room. She'd burst out of the bathroom back in Faroth's infirmary, fear-scent radiating off of her, and, concerned and thinking perhaps there would be Wolves to fight, he had followed her. This was not what he had been expecting to find.

Her spasms were dying down, and her body was beginning to relax, but not in a good way; she still wasn't breathing, and Variks' panic was reaching a high point. He was about to pick her up and rush her back down to Faroth when she heaved a gasp, jerking and kicking, scrambling to her feet and launching herself to her desk like some sort of mad animal.

"Petra!" he tried to stop her, to hold her back or stabilize her footing, but she slumped over the desk, grabbing a pen so fast and sloppily that she tipped the holder over, spilling writing utensils across the wood, and began to write in wild panic on the paper set on the desk, hands quaking violently and single eye wild-looking.

He came to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. He felt an odd twinge in the back of his neck, and he shook his head, waving it off. Petra's words scrawled across the page messily, and she was muttering incoherently under her breath. Her hand jerked violently, and the pen slipped from between her fingers, rolling across the wood.

She shuddered, eye rolling into the back of her head, and Variks caught her with a yelp as she fell sideways. He shook her, a distressed grinding noise in his throat. Her skin had gone cold, and she was paler than he'd ever seen any Awoken, the usual luminescence going dull. He looked around, and saw several blankets.

He took them, and wrapped her in them before picking her up and running out of the room to bring her to Faroth. He didn't cast any glance at the paper on his way out.

The last words read, **"** **He knows."**

* * *

Vesta-4 was in chaos. Everywhere they went, there was fighting. It wasn't just Wolves from the Reef that were attacking; new combatants had apparently been smuggled in to assist in the coup.

Citizens had been rushed to safe zones, and the area outside the Royal docks was a chaotic battleground. The Wolves didn't want _anyone_ getting through to the Queen, who was, according to anyone's best knowledge, still alive and holed up in the throne room.

Sierra threw another knife through a Vandal's head as she passed. Prince Uldren was unstoppable, his stride not breaking even once, despite the poison he'd inhaled earlier. She supposed extreme anger could do that to someone. They had shed their gas masks, and were currently fighting their way through a corridor connecting to the Royal docks; it was a side entrance to the Throne room, according to Uldren.

Other Reef defenders held the line at some point behind them, preventing the Fallen from approaching the two of them from behind. Their enemies were bottle-necked perfectly in the closed space, but that went both ways.

She rushed forwards, beyond Uldren, and kicked off the wall of the corner, eyes quickly scoping out the horde of Fallen that lay ahead, a knife leaving her hand instinctively, though she couldn't recall unsheathing it. Her backflip caught them off guard, their shots at her missed, and she landed behind the corner once more, safe from their guns and at Uldren's side.

She took out her hand cannon, she could feel her Light had recovered enough of itself, and she set the gun on fire before rounding the corner. Taking aim, she fired once, twice, three times, each shot going through and through a Fallen head to kill the Fallen behind them as well, the flaming bullets dispersing fire in a small explosion of Light for each penetration they made, causing the entire hallway to become a fiery Fallen slaughtering ground.

Seeing there were no more enemies in this particular section of the hallway, she holstered her weapon, watching on unsympathetically as the Fallen burned as she flicked another knife handle into her hand; the gun was good for some things, but she always felt much safer and deadlier with a blade at her disposal. She hadn't even thought about the fact she was fighting one-handed; she simply had to ignore the piercing agony in her shoulder, and she could fight fine.

She fought the urge to cast a smug look at Uldren. _"_ _Wounded and useless," ha!_ Instead she glanced at him normally, to see him gazing at her with a strange look in his eyes. She tipped her head to the side and raised an eyebrow questioningly. When he didn't respond, she shrugged in a 'what' sort of manner, and he snapped.

"Would you just _cut it out_ Rogers!?" he shouted with sudden hostility. "Knock it off with the 'silence' thing! _Talk_ , for Harbingers' sake!"

She flinched more than she should have, and looked away. Padfoot materialized as the last of the Fallen finished burning, and the Light fire began to fade away. He looked at her expectantly, anticipating for if she lost this argument.

Which she most certainly would, and then Uldren would know. They all would. Her… weakness would be known to all of them.

Uldren noticed her reaction, and the anger on his feature rose as she turned her back and walked away. Perhaps he could take a hint, figure it out for himself if she just kept silent. She didn't have to tell him outright. Or perhaps he'd already figured it out-it wasn't that hard to guess-, and he was only confirming what he knew to be true.

"Rogers, don't you dare turn you back on me!" he spat. She sheathed her knife and discretely rose her hands, though they were still hidden by her torso. Her silent fighting had a way of… disconcerting some people. Uldren didn't seem the type to be bother by it, but… "If you have a problem with talking to your CO, then you can kiss this battleground goodbye as soon as the Fallen are dealt with! _Answer me_!"

 _"_ _Tell him, Padfoot. With specifics. He might as well know the whole truth."_ Her hands moved, expression filling in the blanks, and the Ghost turned.

"She has elective mutism." Padfoot snapped, whirring angrily. That anger was the same as she felt, though his rage was perhaps based more on the Prince's attitude towards her than the fact she couldn't talk.

She hadn't spoken properly since waking up in that hospital, with all her friends and family dead, scars littering her body, spine broken, blind in one eye. The Light had healed much of it when she was revived, and over the years as a Guardian, the scars had long since faded. The only thing left was a slight blur in her right eye that, once severe, didn't affect her in the slightest any more.

Her voice had shut itself away, her throat had closed. She had learned sign language, though it was difficult because her right hand was so badly damaged it had shaken violently with every movement. She had spoken only once since then, and only one word.

The day she named Padfoot. The only word, only name she'd been able to force out of her mouth. And even then, she hadn't even recognized the voice she spoke with.

Her first fireteam had known she was mute. They always kept her at the back, always held her away from the real battle. They had ignored her every suggestion, and had paid the price in one life for it, blaming her for it even though they'd kept her away from the action. They'd thought of her as a dumb mute, instead of the Hunter she knew she was.

Her second fireteam had also known she was mute, and since hearing from the first team, they'd regarded her with open scorn. They had soon requested her be removed from their company after she saved all their lives from an over-powered Archon.

The third team, hadn't known. But when they found out (girly girl Warlocks, the lot of them; she always wondered how she _ever_ ended up on such a team), they had kept coddling her, kept playing a sickening "pity party" regarding her past. She'd left them voluntarily. She couldn't stand that.

The fourth hadn't know either, and had granted some leeway regarding her disability when they found out… until the commanding Guardian and two others got killed because her sign language had taken too long to do, the message getting through to them too late. The rest of the team blamed her for that, turning their backs on her, formally complaining to Zavala and presenting a case that disabled guardians be automatically stripped of their Ghosts and never be allowed into the field.

The only reason they had failed was because one of Zavala's old friends was missing an eye and had a robotic hand, and could still beat the living daylights against any enemy that was set against him.

The fifth had abandoned her at the Tower before even meeting her, leaving ten hours early to lose her.

The sixth had claimed they'd be willing to give her a chance upon finding out… but she'd learned enough already to know it was a fool's hope. Those accepting smiles would fade the moment she made a mistake, no matter how accepting the leader of the team claimed they were. She'd learned enough already to know… she wouldn't last a day in the Reef.

Everyone in the Tower knew of her background, her bloody team history. Some rumors claimed she was cursed; that made it hard enough. Any Guardian who'd been in more than three teams was an instant taboo. Six? Six in three years? That had to be a new record. Hiding through feigned shyness was the only thing that hid her for very long, and even then, it was obvious.

Though not, apparently, to someone from the Reef. Come to think of it, she had seen hundreds of Awoken today, and not one of them had been naturally impaired. Not even a single pair of glasses to correct vision. It was said amongst some Warlocks that pure Reefborns didn't get birth defects; perhaps it was true. If it wasn't, a man as intelligent as Prince Uldren surly would have put the pieces together long ago.

But he obviously hadn't, judging by the shocked expression on his face. The expression she saw when she turned to glare at him defiantly, the blaze she'd caused still dying behind her. The light of the fire was still reflected in his armor.

"They sent me… a _mute_ , to fight in a war?" And there it was. The scorn. The doubt. The inability to see past her voicelessness. She'd predicted this reaction from him, him and Lyse as well.

 _"_ _Yes they sent you a mute, Prince."_ She signed back, glaring, Padfoot translating for her. There was no sign for Uldren's name; she doubted she would need to make one up, he'd have her shipped out of the Reef in the blink of an eye after this was all over. _"_ _For the record, I opposed this placement. They would not listen."_

Uldren's fists clenched as Padfoot finished translating for her, taking a step forwards. "You had _no right_ to keep this from me!"

 _"_ _I have the only right."_ Her glare became venom. How _dare_ he! He had no idea what it was like, living in the shame of your own emotions crippling your voice, of having your throat close on you like you were being choked! Every time she tried to speak, it was like an insect trying to move a ten-tone boulder that was blocking her throat. Her voice had failed her, and she had failed her voice; she was well within her rights not to mention certain failures. A warrior certainly didn't speak boastfully or openly about their loses on the battlefield. So too did she refuse to reveal the losses within herself.

"I can't work with you! I can't even communicate with you! How the **** am I supposed to coordinate with someone who can't talk? What the **** were your Commanding Officers thinking?" he demanded.

"That she'd have a better chance in the Reef than in the Tower, where everyone avoids her _exactly_ because of what you're saying right now!" Padfoot interrupted her before she could sign, stepping in in that way of his, voice angry. "You want to know why she hid this? Because of what you're saying. You're so… stupid. Stupid, and if she's mute, then you're blind, because the moment you found out, you started judging her skills, which happen to be the greatest since Andal Brask himself, because of one little problem? It's like this every time. The voicelessness makes everyone refuse to see how great my Guardian is. I think that's where we should leave this, because right now the Queen is in danger, and you've wasted more time complaining about Sierra than she would have wasted fighting without a voice. Let's go, Sierra."

The Ghost turned and floated down the hallway, leaving the Prince reeling from the sheer _audacity_ of the small machine talking like that to him. Sierra Rogers turned her back on Uldren Sov, jaw tense, striding down the halls. He could think what he wanted.

She would continue to fight.

* * *

 **And it has been confirmed. A few of you were probably starting to think that might be her problem, and here's your confirmation. I'm litening to "Imperium" on a loop and I freaking love it.**

 **jsm1978: Was THIS your suspicion? Probably. Don't worry; more Variks action hero moments coming up soon. Maybe it's because Martin still looks like a kid? Lets be honest with ourselves; he's an overgrown baby. His... lovable-ness, is his biggest trait. He's also one of those people that just doesn't do good in wartime. He's been born into an age of chaos, and his personality just doesn't fit it. Petra's only in her mid twenties at this point. They're all just kids who've been forced into becoming solders. It's all they've ever known, and sometimes it's easy even for me to forget just how young they all are.**

 **Matteoarts: Good to see you've returned, my friend! And for the record... you ain't seen nothing yet. There are many notches to further kick.**

 **Wheytel: Brace yourself; feels are coming. More feels. More me being mean to them.**

 **Guest(#1): Somewhat? Dude, you've got NO IDEA how AU this is going to get. Already I've slammed about a quarter of the canon lore down the toilet. *evil grin* I like to torture my subject.**

 **Guest(#2): Hmm. Dreagen Yor. *strokes imaginary beard* Interesting assumption.**

 **alienraptor: Petra's not a Techeun. She got hit in the head with a Fallen artifact. Petra's Face is Hilarious intorduced the new and most embarrassing way to get powers.**

 **Sierra, originally, was going to be a character in a one-off short fic about a mute guardian having to protect the royal family during an attempted coup. Then, I realized I needed another character in this. So, the best solution? Put her in here! This way, I get to write her without the hassle of a whole nother fic, get my mute guardian, AND add my much-needed character. As you can see, she also has some very unfortunate trust issues. I put some thought into how a disabled Guardian might be seen in a world that's constantly at war and needs the best solders for the job.**

 **In our world today, she'd probably be disqualified from military service. But since Guardians are a needed resource, and once a Ghost bonds there's no going back, she's in it no matter what people might think.**

 **Oh. My. Gosh. Sparrow Racing...**

 **Patrols will never be the same again. I have to go faster. I have to be the wind... it's like my eye have been opened for the very first time, and...**

 **To heck with private matches. Why can't they just have it matchmaking year-round? it's too fun to give up... speed... yeeeeeees...**

 **I love the cowboy remix.**

 **Ahem. Everything is awesome, Christmas Break has finally started, with the last two days of the week being canceled due to weather! Ha! The last time I had a snow day was freshman year, and so far that's two days in a week that school was canceled! Lucky senior year! So here I am smacking my lips on baby smoked oysters, filling up on soda pop, racing Sparrows and wrecking havoc, and writing to my wee heart's content.**

 **You know what else I've done in the last two chapters? I set the stages for The Taken King. See if you can find the hints.**

 **It may take a while for the next couple of updates. I loaded a few chapters into doc manager before school ended, but the program I use at home... lets just say, I hate transferring chapters to doc manager at home. I use Wordpad, and it doesn't have any correction programs in it, and when I copy and paste things into fanfic doc manager, I have to go through and re-italicize and re-bolden every thought and word emphasis. That, and sometimes parts of words, whole sentences, and one time even half a chapter, will end up lost in the transfer. So yeah, things suck doing fanfiction at home.**

 **But I shall carry on bravely anyway, my friends. Don't forget to fav and follow! You're all SO going to hate me for doing what I do in the next chapter...**

 **Next Time: Martin and Variks have a chat, and Askor is trying to break loose.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	9. Of Blame and James Bond

**SIVA: "Deadwood"- Really Slow Motion(because this song just fits so well)**

* * *

Martin's hand stroked Peppermint repetitively as he sat on the edge of his bed. He was a failure. The biggest looser in the history of loosers. There was nothing he could do to make it right. Now, the Reef was under attack because of him.

Had there ever been another person to fail so fantastically when they had _one_ job? He wasn't a Guardian. He couldn't even hope to call himself that. What was he _doing_ out here? Pretending to be a hero? Because of him, the Reef was under attack. Because of him, Variks' housemates were dead. Because of him, Faroth was wasting his time treating a not-Guardian when Petra needed so much more help.

She'd been in a bed near his when he woke up. According to Faroth and Variks, she'd collapsed in her quarters. Knowing his luck, that was his fault as well. The bed slouched slightly as Variks sat down next to him. He cringed away slightly, scooting away from him a little. Why was he here? Hadn't the Warlock done enough damage to his life today?

"You are not well." The scribe commented. Martin scoffed, and everything forced itself out of his mouth.

"I don't remember half my day, according to multiple people I was running around acting like an idiot, the Reef is under attack because of me, and who-knows how many people are dead because I failed. No, I'm not well at all." He listed bitterly. For _once_ , couldn't he just save somebody instead of making their life worse?

"Reef attacked _because_ of you?" Variks pondered. "There is an error to that logic, yes? Wolves were going to attack anyway, regardless of whether or not you succeeded in warning us."

"Variks, I got hit in the head with a wrench and thought I was Inigo Montoya for three hours. If I that doesn't qualify me as a looser, I don't know what will."

"Looser?"

"Someone who just generally can't do anything right."

Silence.

"You do not strike me as a… looser."

"Ha! Says the guy who lost two friends today because I was out of my wits." Variks flinched. _Because he knows it's true._ Martin thought bitterly. Korik and Havicks were dead because of Martin, and Variks _knew_ that was the truth.

"I would have lost three friends if they had not died for you, yes? Would have been even worse." He pat Martin on the shoulder as the Warlock looked up at him in surprise. "Wolves to blame for the deaths. Wolves to blame for your panic. Wolves to blame for it all, not you. You are not a... _looser_ , Martin. You simply do not have the stomach for battle. You are a thinker, yes? Not a fighter."

Martin scoffed again, looking at the floor because he didn't want to look at Petra. There were others in here now; victims of the Wolves were slowly but surely pouring in. The wolves he'd failed to warn the Reef about.

"All the blame can not go to one person, yes? Blame is on Wolves. Blame is on you. Blame is on every Reef warrior who is too slow. Blame is on everyone who live in Reef, for not realizing Wolves were planning sooner. Blame is on Crows. Blame not entirely yours. That is the true logic of this." He squeezed Martin's shoulder lightly, claws not pressing hard enough to break skin or fabric, but hard enough that they created little points of pressure.

"Logic doesn't stop me from feeling terrible." He kicked at the floor forlornly. Variks' words made sense, but only helped a little. He wished Silverhawk were here. She'd tell a couple of jokes and then it would all be better. He hoped she was being careful.

Variks took a breath like he was about to argue, but at that moment, alarm bells went off. Not in Martin's head, but _literal_ alarm bells. Red lights throughout the outpost had been blinking dully since the Wolves had attacked, but no sounds had been made. Until now.

Variks leapt to his feet with a growl of alarm.

"What's that alarm for?" Martin asked, standing with Peppermint in his arms.

"You recall what I said about Prison of Elders, yes?" the scribe's body language was growing uneasy. Martin remembered. The Queen's special prison, where she had the inmates fight either for amusement or to thin out the herd. "This alarm means that someone is attempting an escape."

A shudder rolled up Martin's spine. Were the inmates of the Prison really so dangerous, the whole outpost had to be put on alert?

"It must be the Wolves trying to free someone." He guessed. Variks nodded, casting one last look at Petra before walking away at a swift pace. Martin could still feel the remnants of shock coursing through his system, but Faroth's medications were swiftly working their magic, and with Variks leaving he felt an odd sort of panic. Making a split-second decision, he jogged to catch up with his friend.

He was glad Variks didn't blame him. But he still didn't feel alright about it. And Petra…

His thoughts died in his mind like a voice in a throat. Mars was probably the most panic he'd ever felt. And here she was, pale again. It hurt, in some strange, not-alright way. Not-alright, because it wasn't allowed. She was a Reef dignitary. It didn't matter how cute he thought her nose was, he couldn't have her.

He tried to shake the thoughts from his head.

He followed Variks out into the open Reef. People were rushing around, either arming themselves or reinforcing some thing or another. Maybe there was something he could do to help? He dodged and wove through the crowd, thankful that the scribe was an easy person to spot.

Eventually, Variks came to a stop near a small door, and tore it open. Martin dashed inside with a yelp as it threatened to close and trap him outside. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room he was now in. Variks was now at a console near the back of the room, all four hands working diligently.

Martin sidled up to him to get a better look. It seemed like some sort of security monitor, but he didn't recognize the language. _He must have it set to read in Fallen so he can understand it better._ He guessed.

"You should be resting." Variks commented, though his focus remained on the console.

"I feel fine now. Anything's better than just sitting there and letting everyone else do everything." He hesitated before making the joke. "Besides; if anything does come along, Peppermint can scare them away."

Variks froze and looked at the cat, who simply sat in Martin's arms, eye half closed, with a look of 'try _anything_ , I _dare_ you' on her face.

"That feline would not be able to combat a Fallen warrior." The scribe observed. Martin gave a wry smile.

"That was a joke." He told him.

"Ah." Variks nodded, and turned his attention back to the moniter.

"And you've obviously never seen Peppermint angry before. Or any cat, for that matter. They can be outright demonic with you tick them off." Variks made a thoughtful rumble in the back of his throat, and then hissed in frustration. Martin felt Peppermint stiffen, and heard the beginnings of a cat's growl. _Oh, please don't attack him!_ He silently begged his pet. Variks could easily hurt Peppermint badly, and he had no idea how a Fallen immune system might react to the germs from a cat's claws.

"What's wrong?" the scribe pulled up a holographic image that looked like a sort of map, and pointed with one claw to a small, circular room just above what looked to be a holding area. In the small room was a sort of engine-looking component, and it was flashing red.

"Wolves have disabled one of the command generators. Cannot get into that cell block. Bad, very bad." Variks growled. He began to pace. "Must be after Askor. Yes, very bad…"

"Askor?" Martin swallowed hard. Whoever he was, he couldn't be good. "Who's that?"

"Archon, for House Winter." He halted, making a soft, thoughtful clicking sort of sound. "Wolves have been collecting. House Waters, gone. Absorbed. Several smaller Houses as well, over past few months. First attempted alliance through the disease. Now this… perhaps, freeing Archon to try and win House Winter favor, yes?"

Martin's brow furrowed as he thought, Variks' gaze turning to him, as if to ask his opinion. _It seems like it… maybe._ He nodded slowly. "Perhaps. We should probably assume so until that theory's proven otherwise."

He looked again at the map. He straightened as pieces clicked to place in his head, as an idea suddenly materialized before him. A plan. He stepped forwards, pointing.

"Variks, those vents that lead to the command generator; do you think we'd be able to get to it from there?" Leading to the generator room were several ventilation shafts. There was a whole system running through the ceiling of the Prison.

"Yes, yes! Excellent, Martin!" One lower hand clapped the Warlock on the shoulder, and the scribe peered closer at the image. "I do not think I would be able to fit in the vents leading to the generator, but you may be small enough to fit. If, that is, you are feeling well enough to do so?"

Martin nodded, excitement rising in him. He'd done something useful! He _was doing_ something useful! "More than well enough!"

Variks enlarged the image of the system. "There is entrance, right near door to cell block. You can get in. Should wear breathing apparatus. Reactivate command generator, open door. Will vent air from Prison, flush Wolves into vacuum, then we must cancel release of Askor."

"How do we do that?" Martin asked. Variks pointed to a panel near one of the cryo cells.

"After I drain the room, you shall come out of vents and go to this panel. You must unlock the valves, turn them to your right. Wolves will have bypassed the valve code, should not have problems there, yes? Once I join you, we shall secure Prison, with the Awoken." He pat Martin on the shoulder again. "Should be simple."

The Warlock nodded. "Let's get to it."

* * *

"So what does this command generator actually do?" Martin asked as they approached the door. He'd gone back and left Peppermint with Petra, and they were currently making their way through the Prison to the cell block where Askor was.

"Controls who can and cannot open doors of the area. Doors are specially made, so that they cannot be forced through. Would take hours to cut with a laser; Wolves have not freed Askor yet, will take some time. But we must stop the thawing process before it is complete. A freed Archon would be… problematic." Variks explained.

There were approximately ten Reef guards following them. When asked as to why an outsider—a _Human_ at that—was being trusted to handle the problem, Variks had sweetly said something in his native tongue that Martin was pretty sure had actually been an insult.

"Do you have a mask?" Variks asked as they came to the end of one hallway, approaching a door that Martin felt might be the one they were looking for. This feeling was confirmed to be correct as he spotted the vent opening in the wall nearby.

He nodded, and reached around his belt to pull out the collar-like device form one pouch. He flinched slightly and grimaced a little as his burn stretched beneath the bandage on his hand. _Faroth's painkillers must be wearing off._ Martin was used to hand burns by now, though; it came with being one of stunted Light. Failure in technique was common.

He held up the collar for Variks to see, and then wrapped it around the back of his neck. He felt the circular points pressing against the sides of his neck, and he adjusted the device carefully. He'd spent the better part of three years making this. He'd made one for Silverhawk, as well. But this one was all his; it was made to accommodate his glasses.

Yet again, he flinched. But not because of his hand this time; no. Because it still hurt to think about the cost of building both of the masks. He was still in dept.

Variks tipped his head curiously at the device. Offering him a wry smile, Martin pressed the circular pieces on either side of his neck, and suppressed a shudder as metal expanded and unfolded, eating up his face and ears, pinching some of his hair in the process.

"Ta-daa!" he offered cheerily, spreading his arms. Variks gave a small jump as the mask ate his face, but was soon chittering excitedly. He grabbed Martin's shoulder a little too roughly, and spun him around.

"Amazing!" he exclaimed, poking at the collar with one claw. "How long did it take for you to make this?"

"Three Earth years. I made one for Silverhawk, too." He told him, deactivating the mask. As handy and impressive as it was, he didn't like his field of vision being obscured like that for as long as he could help it, especially in this situation.

"How did you get the metal to fold?" the scribe looked like he might explode with all the questions he had. Seeing him this excited had the unforeseen but desirable effect of making Martin feel just a little better as well.

But the Reef guards had finished removing the vent cover, and both he and Variks froze and looked at the opening as the cover was set on the ground with a thump. Martin swallowed hard. He still felt a little cold. Maybe he could channel some Radiance, to help with that? But to be perfectly honest with himself, he didn't really trust his Light at the moment, and another twinge went through his bad hand as if to remind him of that.

 _You can do this, Martin._ He told himself. _It's just crawling through vents to activate a generator that's hanging above a Fallen-infested Prison block… Just… pretend its James Bond. It's a James Bond movie. You. Are. James. Bond. Believe in James Bond. Feel James Bond._ Become _James Bond. I am ready._

 _I am James Bond._ He took a deep breath, and stepped forwards. He crouched down to peer into the darkness. He opened his mouth to call Wheatly out, only to remember that the Ghost was still hiding in the infirmary somewhere. He'd refused to leave Faroth's pocket until the Wolves were completely gone. _Looks like I'll have to use my own light then._

He took a small flashlight off his belt and shone it into the vent. Nothing but metal and shadows. He looked up at Variks and the Reef guards.

"Well… wish me luck!" he tried to sound cheerful, but he could hear his nerves leaking into his voice. He wanted this. He wanted to help.

He wanted _this_.

"Good luck, Martin." Variks pat him on the shoulder with one lower hand. "Try not to harm yourself further, yes?"

"Yeah." He agreed hoarsely, nodding. He turned back to the vent, and tested the size, moving in slightly. Something caught on the edge of the opening as he tried to push his shoulders through. His bond. He reached around his arm, and undid the clasp, handing the armband to Variks.

"Careful with that." He told him. The scribe nodded, and Martin tried once more to squeeze through the vent. His robes and belt hindered him this time. Backing out with a frustrated noise, he took off his robes and discarded them. In a flash of insecurity, he took his father's knife off his belt before laying it next to his robes. Carrying the knife by biting the handle in his mouth, Martin moved into the vent completely, now unhindered.

He shivered slightly, colder now that he wasn't wearing his robes. He wore only his pants, and his gray tunic with sleeves that only reached his elbows. Both articles of clothing were still a bit too big for him, loose and baggy on his skinny frame. The icy metal pressed against his skin and he worked his way through the vents, his boots clanging, banging, and bumping against the inside of the ducts.

Each sound made him flinch. He was certain the Wolves would hear him at some point if he made too much noise. He tried to move as quietly as he possibly could, but his body was shaking slightly by the time he made it to what might have been a halfway point to the generator. He was at a wide corner, with a higher ceiling than the rest of the tubes, a small wall of metal at first making him think this was a dead end, that he'd gone the wrong way, before realizing it was a ledge leading to the next set of vents. He mentally kicked himself for thinking he'd gone the wrong way; if anything, Martin was the best at committing things to memory in a short amount of time.

He stopped to breath, propping himself up against the wall, taking deep, slightly shaky breaths. He felt cold, but he was sweating like a dog in here! He wiped his brow with the back of one hand, his father's knife clutching in the other, feeling his stringy, matted hair brush against his skin. He didn't know if he was shivering because of the cold, or because of the strain he was putting on his body so soon after being in shock. Maybe it was both.

 _Maybe I_ should _have stayed in the infirmary…_ he shook his head to clear his thoughts. No. There was no point in exploring regrets now; he needed to do this. He was the only one that could. He could look at a machine and understand it no matter the make within seconds; be it by familiar parts, or a familiar system design. He was small enough to fit in the vents. He was smart enough to do what needed to be done.

And he owed Variks. It didn't matter what the scribe said, Martin had messed up, big time, and two people were dead because of it. Martin had messed up plenty of times before, but never, _never_ had anyone died because of his mistakes before. He had to make it up. He had to help do _something right_.

And this was it. Logic or no.

His comms flickered to life.

 **"** **Martin, how close are you?"** Variks' voice came.

"About halfway, I think." He answered breathlessly.

 **"** **You… do not sound well."** Even through the comms, he could hear the worried clicking noise behind the words. **"** **Do you need to come back? Perhaps you should…"**

"No!" Martin pressed, a little too quickly. "I'm fine, it's just a little stuffy in here, is all."

 **"** **I am… not inclined to believe that completely."** Came the reply, tone ringing with disapproval. **"** **Continue as you may, but do not harm yourself. Contact us when you are done, yes?"**

"Right." Martin turned his end of the line off, and rubbed his forehead with the palm of his good hand. _I suppose you can't convince everyone._ After they stopped the Wolves, he was going to sleep until spring came again. But first, he had to finish this.

He got to his feet, and hauled himself over the ledge.

* * *

Variks growled, pacing back and forth in front of the door. Martin had seemed so confident. His scent had returned to fairly healthy as well. But now the scribe could feel his second stomach roiling; Martin did not sound so healthy _now_. Perhaps it had been a mistake, to let him go in there? But he had insisted. He'd wanted to _help_.

Variks had thought that perhaps, this was not such a laborious task, it would be easy for his friend to complete without straining him further. Thought that perhaps, doing this, opening the way, would help cheer the Warlock up a little, make him feel less of a… what was it? 'Looser'?

He let out a worried grinding sound, halting and staring at the vent opening. _Should not have let him do this. Should have instructed an Awoken… left it to an engineer…_ Oh, _what_ in the name of the Nine had Variks been _thinking_!? Petra would surely be mad at him for letting Martin do this… when and if she recovered from whatever it was that had happened to her. He'd kept the details from Martin; he didn't want any more stress on the Warlock's mind.

He tried to press down the panic rising inside of him, and fought the urge to tap his comms again and keep the Warlock on the line just in case. Grief from his housemates' deaths was still fresh, _very_ fresh. He didn't want to have to worry about losing the young Warlock as well. But it looked as though that worry was happening, anyway.

 _Is only activating a generator. Is safe in vents._ He tried to reassure himself. _Will vent Wolves through airlock before he goes into cell block, anyway. Will be perfectly safe._

His last thought before Martin signaled them, was that after Askor was secured, he would make sure the Warlock stayed in the infirmary for a good long while before doing anything else to 'help'.

* * *

"Variks, I've got the generator." Martin spoke into the comms as he cut a wire with his father's knife. The parts are all hob-shop, but he recognized the system set-up, so he had a fair idea of what he was dealing with. "You should be able to vent the place in a minute or so."

He still felt shaky and breathless, but he was powering through it. He tapped his mask, activating it. _You know, I really should do something about that pinch…_ he thought as he felt the uncomfortable twinges in his scalp.

 **"** **Is your mask on?"**

"Yeah. I can kind of hear the Wolves below me if I listen hard enough. They sound awfully excited and angry down there."

 **"** **Understandable. How… do you feel?"**

"I'm still okay." He bound the last two wires, and moved one of the parts to accommodate them. "There! You should be good to go!"

 **"** **Go… where?"** Variks asked.

"Just an expression. It means, 'you should be ready to start'." Martin explained.

 **"** **Ah. I am venting the cell block now. Be wary; some might not get sucked out. Drop from the ceiling should be small enough for you to handle."** Martin nodded, before remembering the scribe couldn't see him.

"Got it." He acknowledged.

 **"** **Got what?"**

"Another saying. It means 'I understand'."

On the other end of the comms, the scribe muttered something that Martin didn't catch, something about 'odd Human language' being confusing, and he suppressed a chuckle, despite the situation.

He froze, and shuttered as an almighty banging and clanging tremored through the structure. He felt his cloths jerk and his hair get ruffled as the oxygen was vented from the cell block below him. He lifted off of the floor slightly, and he looked at his reflection in the blade of his father's knife to see his sweat-matted hair swishing around as he moved his head from one side to the other. It brought a small smile to his lips; zero gravity had always amused him.

Suddenly, the gravity turned back on, and he crashed to the floor with a thud. He felt air whistle around him as oxygen flooded the vents.

 **"** **There, should be alright to take off mask now."** Variks chirped. Martin shook his head.

"No; I'm right in the vents, Variks. That's pure oxygen flooding in right now; if I take off my mask, I'll get all giddy on it. I don't think that would be very productive in our current situation." He explained. The last thing his system needed was to get high and light-headed.

 **"** **Ah. I understand. Similar things can happen to my kind, if we inhale too much ether at once. Did not know same thing could happen to Humans with oxygen."** The scribe mused. Martin worked the lid off the vent opening in the corner of the room, and once it was loose, tucked his father's knife under the strap of his tunic's thin belt.

"Okay, I'm dropping down. You ready to come in yet?" he asked. The drop was about five feet in the little corner the vent came out in. He sung his feet over the edge and braced himself.

 **"** **Must wait a small time for air to finish coming in, for Awoken."** Martin dropped down, stumbling slightly, eyesight shocked by the sudden light of the room he was now in. He reached for the wall to steady himself as a flash of dizziness passed through him. **"** **Still well?"**

"Yup. It's just a bit bright in here after being in those vents, and the floor's really uneven where I landed. What… is this stuff, anyway?" he asked. There was some kind of chitinous, growing patch on the floor that reminded him of sea barnacles.

 **"** **There are some Hive beings in cryostasis within the Prison. The substance you… stumbled on must be chitin. It spreads where Hive go; have given up trying to remove it. It just grows back."** Martin shuddered, unable to suppress the reflex.

"You know, funny thing; I'm allergic to Thrall. Not all Hive; just Thrall. You wouldn't happen to have any of those in here, would you?" he chuckled nervously, stepping off of the chitin(he swore that one patch just _blinked_ at him!), and maneuvering around it. He looked around, and spotted Askor's pod.

 **"** **Only a few. And they are not in this cell block."** Variks reassured him. Martin, approaching the pod, took the opportunity to further examine his surroundings. There was twisted metal and more chitin all around the place; an excess of chitin seemed to be growing on one pod in particular, and he guessed that was where on of the Hive 'guests' was being kept.

The door, which he guessed was the one Variks was waiting outside of, was placed on the second floor, above a large pile of crates.

He could see the airlock as well; there were a few claw marks in the chitin in front of it, as if the Wolves had tried to stop themselves being sucked out. In a flash of immaturity, he stuck his tongue out at the door, mentally laughing it up at the helpless Fallen that were now stuck floating in space until the Reef forces cleaned them up.

There were stacks of crates and low walls and bent railing set against the messy Prison, and he couldn't help but feel that Variks had given up with more than the chitin problem. _Buddy, you've got some_ serious _interior decoration problems here._ Oh, if only Martha Stewart were a Guardian…

Then again, Silverhawk had said the same thing about the legendary 'Chuck Norris'. He gave a small laugh, which turned quickly into a frown. _Silverhawk._ He hoped she was alright. He hoped above hope that she had done, or was doing, anything stupid at the moment.

He hoped he could leave the Reef soon to get back to her.

As much fun as it was to be with Variks, and as nice it was to see Petra(though nothing about this day had been 'fun' or 'nice'), he was needed at Silverhawk's side.

Many religions had faded over the century. It was hard to practice them. But Martin liked Christianity; it was a nice religion, and had so much proof that it boggled his mind so many old scientists thought it was fake. If there was any time for a prayer, it was now.

 _Please,_ please _don't let anything bad happen to Heather!_ His thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang from somewhere in the room. He whirled around, heart pounding. _Oh, snapple cracks!_

Maybe he could use a prayer for himself as well.

Another bang.

Maybe two.

A small clatter. He could hear his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

Yeah. Two prayers, and… well, a handy-dandy disintegration gun never hurt to have around.

Unless the gun was designed to disintegrate. Which, really, would be totally stupid; why make a gun solely for the purpose of someone pulling the trigger only for it to disintegrate in their hand? Well, he supposed it could be a really horrible gag gift—

A slow scraping noise. He ran for Askor's pod, and hid behind it, panic and adrenaline pumping through him.

"Variks, there's still something in here!" he hissed through his teeth into the comms.

 **"** **What!?"**

"I keep hearing things shifting, it sounds b-big, and I think something m-might have managed to hold on to something and avoid being sucked out!"

 **"** **Get out! Get back to vent! Forget Askor, can kill him later. GET OUT!"** the scribe yelled into the comms. Martin peeked around the corner. He couldn't see anything. He heard a thudding and banging from the ceiling, but faint relief trickled through him when he realized it was just the oxygen pumps turning off; the room was full of air now, that was all. There was nothing in the ceiling… or so he told himself.

Hesitating slightly, eyes fixed on the vent opening, Martin cast one last look around the room before running like a madman for the vent.

He was halfway there when his hopes were dashed.

First, all he saw was a shadow, looming, blocking the light on the floor. In a small way, he could appreciate how whomever it was had placed themselves so that the shadow was out of his line of sight from where he'd been standing near the pod. Then he recognized the shape. Four arms. Dimly glowing eyes. Then he registered that the shakiness he'd been feeling had little to nothing to do with his shock; it had been Darkness of this Fallen pressing on his much weaker Light, that had been making him feel ill.

Last of all, he registered the ceremonial garb, from the brief glimpse he got before trying to dash around and make for the vent.

"THE ARCHON'S LOOSE!" he managed to scream. The large Fallen-so, _so_ _ **large**_!—tried to grab at him, and he dashed to the right, dodging under the limb, before making a b-line for the vent.

He shouted in pain as another hand wrapped around his arm—the one with the bad hand-, jerking him around.

And then he screamed.

He screamed like the world was on fire, because that was what it felt like as another hand came crashing down on top of his trapped arm. He screamed so loudly, he almost couldn't hear the sound of splintering bone and ripping flesh as his forearm was snapped in half like a tree splitting from lightning.

He was certain his arm would fall off as he registered that his feet were off the ground, as he registered that the Fallen was throwing him, by the broken limb, towards the far side of the room.

He screaming silenced as his side struck a low wall, more, new pain lancing through him, as he slid across the ground, and everything went dark.

* * *

 **Merry Christmas! I got you a cliffhanger!**

 **Yes, YES! MUAUHAHAHAHA! READ AND BE IN AWE, PUNY MORTALS, AT THE POWER OF AN AUTHOR! HAHAHAHAHA! I HAVE CONTROL OF MY CHARACTER'S LIVES! MUAHAHAHAHA-**

 **Ahem.**

 **I'm good now.**

 **I'm sorry guys, but it had to happen. I've been way to nice to you in this series; someone had to get hurt in this fic, and it ended up being Martin. Not to say Sierra's at all safe; there's still those visions that Petra had. But I decided that if I'm going to plunge into the darker side of this universe, I need to star weaning the readers off of the usual ridiculousness. No need to worry; the core elements that made Fever such a hit will still be here.**

 **We'll still have Silverhawk, and the usual shenanigan.**

 **But things are going to be getting real as 2017 progresses. In fact, I suspect this series will be finished by this time next year. But 2016 will always be known as the year of ridiculous for the Dysfunctional Fireteam Universe.**

 **Order and Chaos: Don't worry; he may warm up to her, slowly. I'm glad your taking this so positively, by the way; part of me was scared people would take her as a tragic mary sue. Fear unfounded, btw. And your threat is acknowledged and appreciated... mostly by Padfoot.**

 **jsm1978: Yeah, and then there's the problem of Sierra's 'pity resentment' complex. She's actually a bit understandably prickly about being approached. The Ahamkara speaker? Oh, they aren't Fallen. They're on a whole 'nother level of dangerous. Like, the Lyse kind of dangerous, with only a hint of Della Tay creepiness.**

 **Guest: Hmmm. Sorry, but no; neither of he sisters will be featured in this series. The story for why the speaker talks this way is... well, when you learn the full thing, a few people might actually find it a bit creepy.**

 **fierywarlock999: I know, right?**

 **Ah, man. Can't wait for tomorrow. I might just have to write a fluffy one-shot. Maybe it's Amberstar's 'fluffy one-shot syndrome' affecting me. Seriously; she's like, been spamming the Mass Effect archive full of fluff and stuff.**

 **Part of me is very proud right now. This is the longest chapter for this fic yet; I'm still writing the next chapter, but it will be eventful and intense, trust me. You know, maybe I should post the next chapter at midnight exactly on New Years, just to see what happens.**

 **Next Time: VARIKS SMASH! Sierra shoots things in the face, and Uldren's hatred of Lyse Ravenwood begins in earnest...**

 **Cheers!^^**


	10. Of Light and Dark

**The Hunters Three: "Rise of the Immortals"- Sound Adventures**

* * *

First, Variks froze. It wasn't by his own will that he did so. It was by horror's will that his muscles seized up as the door opened and the scream pierced the air. He could only watch, enthralled by horror, as Askor snapped Martin's arm, and threw the Warlock across the room. The small body slammed against a low wall, tumbling over the side of it, rolling a short way before remaining ominously still.

Second, Variks screamed. It was an unnatural sound, Eliksni screaming. It set the hairs of most humanoids on end. He was angry. No. _More_ than angry.

He was _blood-rage **furious**_.

He charged without thinking, blood boiling, eyesight turning red. He hadn't been this angry since… he couldn't remember. Maybe it was during his days with Skolas. He launched himself off the second floor platform, and crashed into the larger Fallen, hooking his lower claws into the Archon's shoulders.

Askor let out a snarl of anger and surprise, trying to spin around and dislodge the small scribe that had latched itself to his back. Variks clawed at Askor's face with his metal upper claws, and tore at the armor that guarded his throat.

Askor would _pay_. Askor _would pay_. Askor would PAY! FOR DOING! _THIS_!

He _refused_ to lose anyone else close today.

Askor howled in rage, reached over his back, grabbed Variks by the back of his tunic, and threw him as well.

Variks let out a grinding whine of pain as he slammed against the wall, stars dancing in his vision as he slumped the floor on his side. He was luckier than Martin; Eliksni bones were sturdy, very much so. A Human's ribs would have broken from such an… impact…

Panic seized him once more. Askor roared in rage as the Awoken fired on it from the upper floor, shouting old Eliksni curses at them. Variks' gaze found Martin, still unmoving, a short distance away. _Have to get him out. Have to get him safe._ Killing an Archon would be no small feat. It occurred to Variks that, instead of going for the throat, he should have used his cybernetic arms to crush Askor's skull instead.

It would have been done quickly then. But then again, a blood-rage didn't leave much room for intelligent thought.

He scrambled to the Warlock's side, and idea forming in his mind. He checked to make sure Martin's mask was still intact, placing one lower hand on his chest. He could feel that his friend was still breathing, his heart still beating, but his poor arm had been snapped in half, bone sticking through the skin, only bloddy tendons and muscle to maintain the connection, crimson Human blood quickly pooling on the floor. He stuck his head over the low wall Martin had hit.

"Close door! Vent room! Now!" he called to the Awoken. The quickly retreated back, closing the door behind them. One guard was dead, lying motionless on the ground floor, her side blasted out by Askor's shrapnel launcher. Variks glared at him.

 _"Go rot in the Dim World."_ He snarled at the larger Fallen as he turned his attention to the scribe and his friend. He lowered his head once more, clamped his metal upper claws on the wall, and gripped Martin tightly in his lower arms. He shut his eyes, bracing himself against the barrier.

Air rushed around him as it was sucked from the room, and he felt his metal claws scrape the wall as they were displaced slightly. His grip on Martin nearly faltered. Nearly. He managed to hold on. There was a brief feeling of weightlessness, and sucking cold seemed to pierce through to his very bones, and then weight returned, as did warmth. He heard the vents kick in to fill the room with oxygen once more.

He opened his eyes. The blood had turned blue from the lack of oxygen, but the flow was growing red again quickly. He lay Martin flat on the ground, panic rising in him. He was breathing, but only just, and he was quickly going pale. Blood had smeared all over Variks, and on the young Human's cloths as well. _Too much blood! Must get him to Faroth!_

He checked the side that had slammed into the wall, and, upon finding that none of the young Warlock's ribs were too loose, he carefully picked him up in his lower arms, using one of his upper hands to steady the injured limb. He ran for the stairs to the second floor, and kicked the door until the Awoken opened it.

"Get doctors! Now!" he barked at them, setting his friend down on the floor again. He snatched up the robes that had been discarded at the beginning of the mission, and, keeping Martin's arm as steady and still as possible, wrapped the scarlet article of clothing around the bleeding limb. He could only hope it was enough, until Faroth arrived. It occurred to him he'd just ordered for 'doctors' and not Faroth in particular. What did it matter? Martin needed help, and he needed it _fast_.

 _Should not have sent him in there. Should not have let him. Should have_ ordered _him to turn back when I heard he was not well…_ How had he deactivated this mask of his? Pressing the sides? Variks tapped both sides of the base collar with his claws, and the metal retracted. He worked the half-collar off of Martin's neck and set it aside. Looking at the Warlock, he let out a grinding noise in his throat.

His friend had gone horribly pale, his eyes were closed, and his mouth slightly open. One lens on his glasses had obtained a new crack. When Variks touched his skin, he found it to be unusually cold, and he whined again. Humans and Awoken were naturally warm creatures. 'Cold' usually meant 'dead'. Dead, or very close to it. But what did he know, anyway? He was Eliksni.

Fallen.

His people had done this. He ignored the Awoken guards around him, what they were saying. They all seemed to be ignoring the injured 'outsider'. He felt mad because of this. Martin had only wanted to help. They were ignoring him. Just like he had ignored the Warlock's injuries from before. He shut all four eyes.

 _I should not have let him do this. By the Nine, what have I done?_

* * *

Sierra barely managed to lean to the side in time. The spear sailed past her, the tip grazing her side slightly before it clattered to the floor behind her. She shot the offending Vandal in the face as she walked by, before putting another bullet in yet another Dreg that had been dumb enough to run up to her to stab her. She liked to watch them try.

" _Don't take a dagger to a knife fight. Doesn't make sense, princess? It does if you're fighting a living knife."_ The quote from Andal Brask's 'Lesson on the Merits of Knives' had pretty much shaped her training from then on out. It was a pity he died to soon after her revival. She'd never gotten to meet him.

But even she had to admit, guns had their merits, too. _Eye shot, eye shot, eye shot._ It was a bit of a gruesome facination, but she liked watching bullets going through her enemies' eyes. There was a subtle change ot the resulting splatter she found satisfying. That, and it was cleaner, quicker. And she needed all the time and bullets she could get.

Uldren was somewhere behind her, picking off the Fallen who were on the other side of the room. They had finally made it to the throne room. Guards lay dead everywhere, with stab wounds or scorched bullet holes, and gunfire was still coming from behind the throne. Fallen were trying to advance on whomever it was hiding behind there, and Sierra got the destinct feeling about who it was.

"Mara?" Uldren called out as he shot his way across the room, taking out three Vandals in successsion from where they were perched in the raftors above. Sierra spotted a Captain with a Scorch Cannon taking aim on her side, and she aimed to shoot him. Two shots, one in the shoulder, the other through his eye. He jerked with the first shot, and the cannon blast hit a support.

There was a loud groan of breaking metal and snapping wires. She gave a shout, perposfully bumping her shoulder into Uldren's to grab his attention. He spotted the problem, and they both ran for it like madmen as the platform began to collapse towards the walkway. Out of the corner of one eye, Sierra saw a sniper take and, and she turned to shoot him, not watching as the body fell from his perch.

Unfortunately, this also slowed her down. Uldren managed to clear the fall zone of the platform, but before she could run clear completely, heavy metal slammed into her side and ontop of her, and she screamed with pain as the force struck her bad shoulder. She moaned, coughing, winded, once again pinned by a pile of rubble, loose wires sparking and swinging all around.

"Rogers!" she heard the shout from beyond. it wasn't too bad, aside from the fact there was a heavy metal beam crushing her. She had a somewhat clear vision of Uldren as he doubled back for her. He crouched next to her, and braced himself against the rubble, trying to move it off of her, and she caught sight of more Fallen aiming at his now-exposed back.

The metal shifted enough for her to get her good arm free, and she lashed out, gun at the ready, shooting the Fallen as she tried to work herself out of the other fine mess she'd got herself into.

The metal creaked and groaned as the Prince strained to move it. His hand slipped, but he quickly regained himself.

"Rogers- stop shooting and get yourself out, damnit!" he snapped. She pulled the trigger one more time, and managed to get out at an ungraceful, one-armed scramble. Uldren let the metal beam drop to the floor, and she winced as she moved, almost certain she'd broken a rib or two. _I am probably building up quite the collection of bruises for today._

"Hold on!" Uldren grabbed her shoulder as she staggered to get up and continue. To her surprise, he grasped her injured shoulder firmly with both hands, and she only had a second to register what he was doing before hot agony bolted through her to accompany the sharp jerk of the Prince snapping her dislocated shoulder back into place.

She screamed and stomped downwards and backwards, and he jumped back, swearing and grabbing the foot she had stomped on. Maybe she felt a little bad for that, but not really. _Sorry not sorry._ She thought as he turned his golden glare on her once more. Padfoot materialized next to her.

"Well what did you expect? Hunter reflexes, remember?" the Ghost explained, causing Uldren to glare more.

"Uldren!" A female voice called from behind. Sierra spun, gun ready, and shot a cloaked Vandal that just so happened to be in her line of sight, putting the bulled between it's middle eyes before lowering her weapon slightly to look at a woman who was, without a doubt, the Queen.

She looked different than what Sierra imagined her to be. She had thought the Queen would look a little more like her brother, that at least the hair might be the same. But no. Mara Sov looked the opposite of Uldren, with platinum blonde hair and eyes that glowed a soft blue instead of gold. Where his face was hard with anger and sneering, her features were soft.

The Prince could have been fire, and the Queen, ice.

Though her grace did look a bit worse for wear. There was a cut still bleeding across one cheek, and there was a light brace on one of her legs, as if for an injury that was still healing. At the sight of her brother, she lowered the black sidearm she'd been shooting with, and an Awoken guard stuck her head out from behind the throne, a look of relief crossing her face at the sight of Uldren.

"Mara! I told you I shouldn't have left, but _no_!" he exclaimed, the first positive emotion Sierra had ever seen from him flickering across his face to mix with his annoyance as he strode up to his sister and clapped a hand on her shoulder.

Suddenly, the guard screamed, a shimmering shock blade bursting out of her chest. Sierra noticed a shimmer in the air behind her. _Stealth Vandals!_

Another knife in her hand in an instant as both Queen and Prince whirled around to face the attacker, Uldren shoving his sister behind him roughly. Sierra let her knife fly, setting it alight as she did so. It struck true on the Fallen's torso, and it screamed, the flames giving away it's position completely. The cloaking flickered and faded, and Uldren ended its life with a bullet to the face. The Queen looked at Sierra, who lowered her head respectfully for a brief moment, before shooting a Dreg that had been dumb enough to throw itself at her from over the railing.

"And who might your companion be, brother?" she questioned.

"Rogers. Don't waste your breath with her, she's mute." Sierra glared daggers at him as he backed his sister towards the throne, shooting at the Fallen that were closing in on their position. _Actually, it really would be great if I could have a couple extra daggers right now._ She thought as she threw another knife. If this kept up, she would have to switch to her long knives and go in head first.

Her shoulder still hurt, though not on the level it had before Uldren set it right, and as the Fallen pushed the three of them back towards the throne, she reached up, and ripped the makeshift sling off. She took one of her combat knives off her belt, and brought it up in time to block a blow from a shock blade.

With her other, now free hand, she shoved a knife up his chin before jerking it out and throwing it into the forehead of another Vandal. The Fallen were swarming in earnest now. Not only were they up in the side rafters and second floor walkways, they were crawling up from below, crawling along the debris from the previous collapse. At this rate, Herself, Uldren and the Queen would be overwhelmed in a matter of minutes.

 _I suppose the only thing to do now, is make those minutes the longest minutes we can._ It was now not a matter of surviving the attack; it was an unspoken contest of 'who could survive this assault the longest'.

Her whole life as a Guardian had involved defying the expectations, defying death itself. She was afflicted with weakness, but she did not bow to it. Her voicelessness did not define her.

It forged her. Like a blade tempered in a fire, she was tempered by the rejection, by the judgement, by the lack of communication, by the doubt all placed on her the moment they found out about her muteness. She was tempered and sharpened by every fireteam, by every stinging comment, by every use of sign language.

Her hands were quick because they were her voice.

Her fire was hot and forever fueled by defiance.

Her skills were sharp because she had to prove herself.

She was strong, and getting ever stronger, because she had to work twice as hard for everything normal Guardians had. Respect. Dignity. People you trusted at your side, people she would never have.

And like the defiance that drove her, like the determination that forged her into living weapon, she would shine and blaze.

And she would hear the Darkness scream as her Light burst through the shadows one more time before being blotted out.

In one hand she took her gun, and in the other, she held a knife. She set both on fire, and, screaming, threw herself at the Fallen. One hand cut, burned, and butchered, with the other blazed, boomed, and ended with deadly precision. As the living weapon blazed through the Fallen ranks, the Queen and Prince could only watch the embers build around her, and smoke filled the air with the smell of burning flesh and sound of screaming Fallen.

"Rogers, get back here!" Uldren yelled as the golden glow began to fade around the Hunter. He was still shooting, him and Mara both, trying to pick off as many Fallen as possible before they reached Rogers in an effort to take some of the pressure off the Hunter. She didn't come when called; she simply stabbed a Dreg in the stomach before spending her last bullet on a Vandal's forehead.

She dropped the gun, and dispensed the knife by throwing it into the neck of another Vandal, before reaching behind herself, and pulling matching long knives out from under her cuirass. Flipping them, she engaged her enemies once more, her Light straining the longer she kept the knives ablaze. Solar Light, in Hunters, was not meant to be shaped like this for so long.

It happened right after she killed two Dregs. She shoved both knives up their chins, to the hilt, and then spun around, ready to swing into the Captain she'd spotted out the corner of one eye. And her spin took her right into the path of a swinging shock blade.

She screamed as it slammed into her leg, slicing through the padding and wire weave, deep into her flesh.

"Rogers!" Uldren shot several times at the Captain, and it stumbled, giving the wounded Hunter an opening to tab both knives into its chest, before whirling to fend off another blade-wielding Vandal. "Rogers, fall back! Now!"

For the briefest of instances, she turned her head to him, and their eyes locks for a small infinity. She needn't a voice or sign language for that moment, because her eyes conveyed all she needed to say in that moment, all that could be said, her reasons as clear as the silver-blue her gaze was made of.

 _"No."_

After that fraction of a second, the Prince of the Reef briefly considered his options. And then he ran out of time, for almost directly after that moment, Mara jerked backwards into him with a cry of pain, clutching her stomach.

"Mara!" he exclaimed. As the wounded Hunter limp-danced through her enemies to her death, one sniper had managed to slip through everyone's notice. Sierra's well-thrown knife had not been fast enough to knock the shot out of aim completely.

Backing away behind the throne, half-carrying, half-dragging his sister with him, Uldren emptied the last of his rounds into the incoming Fallen, who would swarm over and kill Rogers in no large amount of time, with her leg bleeding the way it was now. He and his sister sat with their backs pressed against the throne, Mara pressing against him with a grimace on her face, dark blood flowing over her hands as she tried to stop the gut wound from pouring her life all over the floor. Uldren took out his knife, one arm still wrapped tight around his sister.

He could hear the Fallen screeching with pleasure, and it didn't take a genius to guess what was happening to Rogers to cause such joy from them. He shut his eyes and squeezed his sister tighter. She should have listened to him. But he would fight to the last breath anyway.

To the last breath.

The final knife, between the Fallen and the Queen.

And on the walkway, the last flicker of flame still burned defiant against the black that was trying to snuff it out.

Sierra was sent stumbling backwards into an opening in the pile of rubble littering the walkway, and she found herself thrashing amongst many wires and cables. She barely managed to lift her knife in time to throw it into the head of a Fallen who thought to finish her off by shooting into the hole.

She rolled over, and let out a gasp of surprise as she slid sideways and downwards over a piece of grating from the second-level walkways. But her gas was silenced quickly as something went dangerously taut around her neck. She dropped her remaining knife as her slid was jerked to a halt by the cable now wrapped around her throat.

She strained, choking, stretching her arm out, trying to retrieve her blade. She could cut herself loose…

A light shone through the cracks in the debris, blazing, flaming, and the temperature spiked. Though in the confined space she didn't know it, Lyse had finally caught up with them.

The Warlock didn't waste her time climbing over the rubble; she set herself alight and ran through it, melting her way through, molten steel splattering across her robes as she unsheathe her katana. A row of throwing stars marked the first steps in her path of destruction through the Fallen that awaited on the other side.

Next, the same flaming devastation that had befallen her enemies at the mag tram station. As Lyse burned and cut outside, Sierra desperately reached for her knife, vision going dark as her struggle put more and more pressure on her throat, the cable going tighter and tighter around her neck.

"Sierra, just hold on!" Padfoot, urged, materializing. "I'll get one of the others! Lyse is here, her Ghost just pinged!"

With that he zoomed away out into the thick of the battle as her fingers brushed the handle of her knife. Rather than coming to her, it spun in the opposite direction, her own weapon of choice betraying her. She could no longer think, and her hand fell to the ground, her body slumping, her other hand reaching up to try and pull the constricting force away in vain.

Her arm went limp, falling into her lap as everything spiraled away. The Fallen's final screeching as they died, the unbearable heat and smoke form Lyse's rampage, the yelling of the Reef Prince calling her name… the clatter of someone moving through the rubble…

Uldren slipped his knife, with great difficulty, between the wire cable and Roger's neck, and pulled. She made an odd, strained choking noise, one leg jerking, as he did so, and the cable snapped as he carved through it.

She gagged and gasped as the pressure was finally released, falling sideways, hand clutching for and wrapping tightly around the handle of a bloodied long knife that lay a short distance away.

"It's okay Sierra, you're going to be fine. The fight's over." Padfoot reassured her, hovering low next to her as she pulled the blade close to her chest, gasping. "You won't need that knife."

She let out a weak grunt that could have been a scoff as Uldren dropped down next to her silently, face blank. He took the cables and began wrapping them tight on her leg, right above the ugly, deep gash caused by the Captain. He wrapped it tight, trying to cut off the flow of crimson that had soaked her armor and pooled on the floor below her.

"Is she alive?" Mara asked calmly from outside.

"Don't be stupid! She'll always be alive!" Padfoot proclaimed defiantly, though the twisting of his shell betrayed how truly distressed he was at the state his Guardian was in. Her eyes drooped, and her body gave in to the multiple wounds bleeding from her person. From the gash on her leg, to the long cut on her side, to the shock bullet that had struck her bad shoulder, to all the smaller cuts and scrapes from the daggers and shock blades and their glancing blows, to the bruises that were already blackening beneath her armor.

She was alive. She had won. And when she woke, she would laugh in death's face. Because she was not knocking on death's door. She was running up, ringing the bell, and running away to go giggle while hiding behind a corner.

"Sierra? Sierra, stay with us!" the Ghost cried, panicking as his Guardian lost consciousness. Uldren rolled her over, and picked her up, slinging her over his back. The last knife clattered to the ground, and he worked his way out from beneath the rubble.

"Lyse!" he yelled as he came back into the open. The Warlock was leaning against the side of the throne, arms crossed over her chest, not a scratch on her. A few splatters of cooled metal were dotted over the fabric of her robes, but more likely than naught, she would melt them off later. Mara, too, was leaning against the throne, though she was the very image of tired. She was still covered in her own blood, one hand still resting on her abdomen where the major would had been.

Had been. Lyse had healed her injuries, though phantom pains were still bothering her. She sat up in surprise as her brother emerged, the bloodied Hunter slung across his shoulders.

"By Saturn's rings…" she exclaimed softly. How could one person lose that much blood?

She stood and made her way towards them as he lowered the Hunter to the floor. Most, if not all, of the Fallen bodies had been disintegrated or scorched to a fine crisp by Lyse, though blood still stained the floor. Uldren undid the clasps to Rogers' cuirass as her Ghost flew in next to her, removing the armor plating before laying her flat on her back. To Mara, it looked as though she were barely breathing.

"Lyse, get over here, heal her!" Uldren demanded again, taking off his gloves, which were covered in Awoken blood, before clasping his hands over a long cut on the Hunter's side. Mara crouched down next to them, unsure of what she might be able to do. Her own hands were covered in her own blood; trying to help could to more harm than good. She caught sight of the Hunter's cloak. Taking up a nearby shock dagger, she cut the cloak free of its clasp, pulling out from under Rogers, rolled it up and passed it to Uldren, who pressed it against the side wound while checking Roger's breathing.

"What are you waiting for!" he yelled, anger mounting in his voice, looking up to glare at Lyse.

She was still standing against the throne.

"No. " she said, turning her head to look at them, fire-like eye blazing as if the Sunsinger were still burning. Uldren's head snapped up, gaze burning gold. Most people shied away from his glare, but Lyse met his gaze steadily.

"What do you mean 'no?" he demanded.

"I mean that I've used enough of might Light already. I'm not putting myself in a day-long coma for some _mute_ that I don't know, and quite frankly, don't care Thrall's butt about." The Warlock spat, stepping out of the shadows. She looked at the downed Hunter with disgust, and Roger's Ghost whirred and clicked angrily. "That's right, I know about her little 'affliction'. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. In fact, only an idiot wouldn't guess."

"Sierra ten time times the Guardian you are!" the Ghost boldly yelled at her. Uldren stood, and Mara reached over to press on the rolled-up cloak in his stead.

"You're going to let one of your own die? Just because you don't want to take nap?" she could see his anger building and building, mounting to the breaking point.

"The Reef is still under attack; I won't be caught sleeping on the job. If she dies, that' her own fault." The female Awoken reasoned coldly.

"How dare you!" The Ghost yelled at her, with a rage Mara hadn't known Ghosts to possess. "You swoop in here like you're the hero and save the Queen, but you'd let my Guardian die when you're well within your ability to save her? You don't even have to do a full job, you could just replenish the blood she lost, but no!"

"Guardians are supposed to be willing to _die_ for one another!" Uldren snarled. Mara had seen the distaste in his gaze when he'd introduced Rogers to her briefly. But his zero tolerance for disloyalty overrode any ill feelings he had towards the mute. "I expect no less form my own men!"

"Oh, I'm _sorry_ sweety. Were you under the illusion that all Guardians are big, lovable heroes, or soft-spoken, jittery Warlocks who are hardly into their third year and turning out to be heroes? No, we are not _perfect_." She spat in response, getting up in his face. " We are not _selfless_. Some of us are even killers by nighttime. We are the last of the Light, or so the Speaker tells us, but all Lights cast a shadow. My Light burns brightest among the stars, so my shadow cast deepest over me above all. The galaxy is a disappointing place. _Get used to it_."

Her brother was beside himself with anger. How many people had they lost today? Too many to count. No doubt, many of them had been his people. He hated losing things, especially solders. And to him, disloyalty to your brethren was a crime that could not be forgiven. But Mara couldn't afford to let him fall into his rage right now.

Rogers had stopped breathing.

"Uldren, her breathing has stopped." She alerted her brother. He switched priorities-though the rage boiling in his eyes spoke that his conversation with Lyse was not done yet-and crouched at Roger's side again, checking her pulse.

"Mara, find one of the vacuum kits. Quickly! I'm not losing one more solder today, not even a useless mute!" he urged her. He tipped Roger's chin up, pinched her nose shut, and breathed into her mouth twice. Mara stood and ran for the opposite side of the room.

In space, you never knew what could happen. So every med kit contained a canister of emergency oxygen, and in every room and hallway you could find at least three 'vacuum kits', emergency masks and oxygen supplements in case life support went out or if the oxygen shields around Vesta threatened to go down.

Mara didn't know Rogers. A mute, now that was certainly surprising. She'd asked Ikora to send someone quiet, a silent storm to muffle Uldren's thunder, and it seemed as if the Warlock Vanguard had taken the task to heart, though why in the good, shining galaxy she would send someone like Lyse, the Queen had no idea.

Now, perhaps it was her recent experience in the Black Garden that was turning her soft when it came to the Guardians, but the way Rogers had fought, the conviction with which she killed, refusing to retreat even when death was guaranteed if she stayed, even with Prince Uldren yelling at her to back off… and the way her brother refused to watch even a 'useless mute' die…

Maybe, if worse came to worst, she could use her powers to keep the girl alive if she had to. If there was one thing she hated doing, it was watch Uldren scramble to save someone. She spotted the vacuum kit hanging lopsided on the wall, and tore it open. She took the small canister and mask from within, and ran back to the fading Hunter, to find her brother still at work trying to keep her alive.

"Where are those damn med teams?" he muttered under his breath, lifting Rogers' head so Mara could secure the mask to her face. She pressed the release button twice, sending jets of air through to the Hunter, and placed a hand on the mute's forehead, just as more gunfire went off in the distance.

"That's them! Fighting their way through the last of the Fallen!" The Ghost exclaimed, before zipping away to meet the med team when they came through. The Hunter's skin was cold, her face pale, and when Mara tried to reach out to her mind, she found the woman was fading fast indeed, the usual buzz of a healthy subconscious thick with haze.

"Be strong against death as you are against the Darkness. You will not die this day." The Queen murmured. This would be the Guardian who put Skolas down.

And as the med teams rushed in, and Uldren started yelling, and Lyse turned her back with no emotion in her eyes, there was no doubt in Mara's mind that this would be the truth.

* * *

 **Oh, man this was dramatic! I bet I got you at every one of those vision references, didn't I? And then there's poor Martin...**

 **jsm1978: Martin _is_ the kind of the last person you'd expect something really super bad to happen to. It would be like kicking a puppy. I actually felt like I kicked a puppy doing this to him. And don't worry; Faroth'll do his best to make sure Martin doesn't lose an arm.**

 **This Is Sarcasm:*sighs* dear goodness, I had a feeling this might happen... Thought it would be MaybeALittlebroken, though.**

 **AQY: Maybe. He's got a lot of weirdness going on, thought that might actually happen someday. He's got quite a ways to go before he's ready and willing to let himself get struck by lightning. Personally, I don't blame him on that aspect.**

 **fierywarlock: I got a computer. Typing on this keyboard is the most satisfying thing in the world. It's got one of those very satisfying keyboards. Also, Amberstar and I won't have to go to war for computer time anymore, so there's that bonus! ^^ Also, digital reinforcements should arrive at your location, ETA 'update', for moral support. Hang in there, buddy!**

 **I feel like hiding as I push this chapter out into the open. I just threw two characters into critical condition. I don't feel happy about it, but it had to happen. I couldn't have all those terrible visions Petra had, and then not have something happen to Rogers. Originally, the Queens wounds were going to be a lot worse, though, so count yourselves lucky there was no over-emotional near-death scene to go along with Sierra nearly strangling herself. It was really hard to write this scene. I couldn't settle on an 'official' PoV, so I just had it fluctuate between characters like in a few of the early Fever chapters, before settling on the Queen during the aftermath.**

 **Then there's the fact we opened a vacuum when someone had an open wound. I really have no idea what would happen if something like that happened in real life, so you geeks don't get all over me for that. I'm not all sciency-wiency.**

 **But, here is some good news, for those of you who are bloodthirsty little pyros; there's going to be a _really big explosion_ next chapter. A lot of people have been dying for another Ketch to burn like in Fever. I'm going to do it; but this time with a twist I'm certain you'll all appreciate.**

 **Next Time: Silverhawk is really, really angry. LET. IT. BURN! ALL OF IT! YEEEES!**

 **Cheers!^^**


	11. Of Shadows and Lightning

**Petra: "Requiem of the Night"- Audiomachine**

* * *

Silverhawk stood a short distance away, having walked in that direction to receive the call that had been sent her way, supposedly from the Reef. Tevis sat on a rock as the night glinted off the knife he was sharpening, his helmet removed to reveal a surprisingly young face, though with light traces of the Darkness-laced acid burns he'd suffered form years ago. A light dusting of gray had begun appear at the base of his scalp, not from age, but the stress of being both the most experienced Nightstalker in the Vanguard arsenal, and the father of one of the most precious and hyper-active little boys ever to be born.

He stopped sharpening as Silverhawk's posture took a major turn for the down. They had been waiting here all day, waiting for the Vanguard to confirm orders; kill, or tag, for Draksis. If they didn't act soon, he'd be gone to the wind. If the Vanguard took too long, He'd go in there and kill the Kell himself. Silverhawk's shoulders slumped, and her head lowered. He tensed, alarm bells going off in the back of his mind.

The call ended. Her head raised. She took in the mountains, the smoke in the sky, the darkness in the air, and couldn't care less. She whirled around and strode towards Tevis, and he flinched when he saw the look on her face. Even with her glasses and her fedora, he knew that face.

It was the face he'd seen in the mirror for weeks after Brask's death, weeks, and beyond.

"We kill him." She stated, voice cold and very un-Silverhawk-like.

"What's going on?" he asked. The both knew it wasn't Vanguard orders she was acting on.

"An Archon got loose in the Prison at the Reef. Went on a rampage." Her voice was clipped. Tevis blinked, gut twisting.

"Martin?" he asked, dread weighing heavy inside of him.

"Yeah." She rasped. He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder, and she shook him off. "Archon was from the House of Winter. They managed to kill it. Now, let's end their Kell while he'd still reeling."

"And while _you're_ still reeling? No, Heather, you're not going in there." He told her, grabbing her shoulder more firmly this time.

"He's not dead. He'll be fine. I'm just really angry." She challenged him, taking her glasses off to meet him with a steady, glowing sky eyes. "I told Martin I wouldn't go after a Kell unless I was really, really angry. I'm really, really angry, Tevis."

He shut his eyes. _Oh, Cayde is either going to love me or kill me. Birding will_ definitely _kill me._

But there was nothing that could stand between a Hunter and revenge. Nothing could, not even another Hunter. It was generally something that one didn't interfere with; to do so may as well be putting a bullet in your own mouth.

"Fine." He relented opening his eyes. "But don't do anything stupid. You know Martin would chew you to pieces if anything happened to you, and your mother would leave me as a pile of electrocuted ashes."

She nodded, and looked down at the Ketch, with many of its inhabitants sleeping within. In an act that surprised him, she took off her fedora, folding it tightly, wrapping the strap around it to hold it there, before tucking the hat in her belt, and putting her glasses in a pouch.

She _wanted_ Draksis to see her, to see exactly what was coming for him.

He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Don't do anything he'd not want you to. No risks. Now let's go make them pay." He told her. She nodded mutinously, pulling Ol'Reliable out of its holster.

"Let's sneak on and drop down right on top of the monster. Then… I want to drive this ship into the volcano." She said calmly.

"Are you insane?!" he exclaimed.

"It's their own fault for parking it on top of a lava field. The stuff may be blue, but it's still lava." She reasoned. "Besides, our Ghosts can transmat up to our ships before we really crash."

Tevis shut his eyes, rubbing his forehead with one hand. He was really going to regret this, wasn't he?

* * *

He slunk through the shadows as only a Nightstalker could.

Out here, with the void, one had to be careful not to confuse the void with Darkness. He was not merely movement within the umbra of a shadow; he was the umbra itself. To cloak oneself with the void, to become shadows, required a focus beyond that of what Warlocks were capable of. But beyond focus, it required instinct.

Most Nightstalkers only mastered the skill to the point where they could combine shadowing with a roll, becoming void mist so that bullets fazed through them harmlessly as they moved from cover to cover. Tevis had wanted to go beyond. He still hadn't mastered it completely. Brask had always been of the opinion that it was a bit 'too ambitious'. Cayde thought it was awesome.

To Tevis, it had become necessary.

He couldn't hold it for very long, but it was long enough to make the few Fallen on guard skittish. They thought they kept seeing a shadow moving between shadows, umbras twisting within umbras. But whenever they looked, Tevis was gone, and closer to the Ketch.

When he was up the ramp, he moved inside, and found a duct entrance. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, and, moving like wind blowing soft across snow, he went back out to the entrance of the ramp. He looked down at the Fallen below, and picked one of them out—a Vandal, looked average weight, thought a bit taller than usual—before beginning the plan. He faded back into solid form once more, a shudder slipping down his spine as hit atoms rearranged themselves.

It was truly frightening, and amazing, what Light could do when finely honed for years on end. He wasn't the most experienced Nightstalker in the Vanguard arsenal for no reason, after all. He held out his hand in a fist shape, able to imagine the bow there, and curved his fingers to fit around it when it came. Imagining the bow, he locked his sight on the Vandal. Imagining the bow, he put his fingers to where the string would be.

Summoning his bow…

Ere his shafts flew.

It was chaos as the first Vandal disintegrated, and even as that happened, Tevis had put another arrow to the string. Another Vandal, right through the heart, his companions tethered to the ground beside where he once stood.

In a few moments, all the enemies were either tethered or dead.

And Silverhawk moved in for the kill. A streak of living lightning through the void-made night. She shot from one tethered group to the other, slicing her way through all of them, causing bright, beautiful explosions of void particles alight with arc energy. This was a technique he and Cayde had mastered, thought only part of it. Tevis would sneak in, Brask would come and cause some shock and awe with his Golden Gun, Tevis would tether the remainders, and Cayde would streak in with his Arc Blade to help Brask mop up the rest.

The resulting explosions and combinations of arc, solar, and void Light had made for quite a breathtaking show, and they'd managed to impress quite a lot of people with their combinations.

Unfortunately, those people had included the Hunter Vanguard, who had subsequently challenged Brask to the Vanguard Dare. If they hadn't been such foolish show-offs back then….

He shook his head, and almost grinned when he thought that being foolish show-offs was the point of being a Hunter. The Warlocks were to squeamish to be cool, and the Titans be all like 'whatever'. Who did that leave to be the face of frabjous for the Guardian community? Hunters.

Their job was to kick butt, take names, and look good while they did it. Cooler than the Warlocks.

Silverhawk ran up the ramp, and came to a halt in front of him, electricity sparking off her as she let her arc Light settle back down. After years of getting used to seeing her eyes concealed, it was odd to look into their glowing sky-blue depths again. It was like he was meeting another Awoken… but she was Human. He shook this brief confusion away.

"Vents are over here. Skink and Westley can guide us through." He told her. She nodded, still silent, still not Silverhawk. _Just hold it together, kid…_

He swallowed hard. Would it be worth it? Bringing her into this was seeming more and more like a bad idea. He closed his eyes briefly before lowering himself to the ground, checking his helmet pressure to make sure it was secure against the ether-rich air they would likely find inside, and crawling into the ducts, Silverhawk following close behind.

By the time the other Fallen got there, there would be no trace of the two Guardians save a scent leading to ducts only a Dreg could fit through.

Tevis could only hope Silverhawk recovered herself in time to prevent some other tragedy. Because if there was one thing he was painfully aware of, it was that he couldn't always save people…

* * *

The Kell's throne room was just below them. Silverhawk was in some other duct, awaiting Skink's signal to come in. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath as he crouched in the tunnels. In, and out. In, and out. Pure calm, no fear, of the void or your enemies; that was the secret to summoning a Dusk Bow.

He felt the void curl around his fingertips. Felt the long arc of Light form in front of him. The Bow was an extension of the one who wielded it. It was not merely a weapon to be taken out and put away; it was a limb you had to exercise periodically to build its strength, to increase its agility, to improve upon the senses that came with using it.

A Dusk Bow was the embodiment of what the Nightstalker needed the most. Range, deadliness. Accuracy, subtlety. Blade, bullet, in one. Arrow could be knife, bow could be double-ended sword, string could be thread upon which to sing the song of war and beauty.

It was focus, it was void. It was wild, as the Hunters were, it belonged in the wild as they did. To be a Nightstalker was to be a Hunter. To be a Hunter was to be a Nightstalker, was to touch the void, the farthest of places that few could reach, that had consumed their many map-makers and adventurers.

He opened his eyes, and kicked the vent out. As he hit the floor he rolled, twisting himself into shadows and using his momentum to cast himself upwards, twisting in mid-air and putting an arrow to the string as he fazed back into normal solidity. He let the void-made shaft fly, right into the center of the Kell's Guards' formation. They all screeched as the Nightstalker tethered them to the spot, their muscles seizing up and nervous systems failing to comply as the void sent shockwaves through their brains.

Silverhawk came bursting out of another vent, on the wall instead of the ceiling, in a feral explosion of arc Light. She ran at the trapped Fallen, just as Tevis turned his attention to Draksis. Perhaps if he could kill the Kell first, he could spare himself the worry.

He was even bigger up close. He barely brought his bow up in time to block the massive blades that could have crashed down on his head.

"Well," he stated, voice strained," How long's it been, big guy? I believe… yeah, nine years since Twilight Gap. Prob'ly don't remember me, but… payback's gonna be a void shaft."

He jerked his bow with a violent twist, prying the blades away, and swept one end in an arc, the void-made, now blade-like curve of the bow catching on one of its upper arms. It howled in pain as the Light sliced its flesh.

Tevis was a Hunter who didn't like to carry around a lot of gear. The lighter he was, the less things he had on him, the more silently he moved, the faster he could be. He'd trained himself to the breaking point, especially during the year following Brask's death. Constantly suffering Light exhaustion, always waking up in a cold sweat because of it, plus the wild-longing…

But it had paid off. He held the records for longest held single Dusk Bow use, and most arrows fired in a single engagement without succumbing to Light exhaustion. He was killer in the Crucible, where powers were simulated using real-time psych and physical input form the Ghosts ( _actually_ using powers on each other would be dangerous). He had reached the point where he used his bow so often, he was considering ditching all but one gun and a knife in favor of using the void-made weapon more frequently.

Some regarded him as a freak of nature, or as 'asking for Light trauma', but it didn't matter to him. He used his Bow as a double-ended blade, a shield, an instrument of choice for karaoke night. He was skilled enough now, hopefully, to protect the ones he cared about like he'd failed to with Brask.

And there were always the ones behind his mentor's final secret… who knew what they might be like, his skills might be needed desperately.

Draksis staggered back and then came at him again with a snarl, blades raised to swipe at his side and down on his head at the same time. In a move that was more instinct than training, he spun his bow upside down, catching the side-sweeping blade and shoving it upwards to block the other sword. The Kell's free hands reached to claw him, but it let out a howl of pain as Silverhawk rushed forwards, slamming both her own blades down on Draksis' lower right arm.

The electrified, sharpened metal cut through the Fallen Kell's flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter. He howled in agony, his other lower hand reaching reflexively to grab at the wounds, or to grab the Guardian responsible.

But his slip in concentration cost him dearly. Tevis stabbed an arrow into Draksis' upper left arm. He screeched as Silverhawk ran between his legs, dropping one of his shock blades. Silverhawk used her momentum to kick off the wall behind him, and launched herself at his back.

He howled, reaching behind himself to try and dislodge her, stumbling backwards. Tevis fired a shot at his feet, and a bolt of void Light caught him, tethering him to the point, and he lost his balance completely, falling backwards. Silverhawk pivoted herself around his neck, raised her blades, and brought them down into his throat.

Panting, Tevis relaxed his stance, though he didn't put away his bow, as the Kell jerked and gurgled for the final time before going still. His eyes fixed on Silverhawk as she slowly rose, yanking her blades free of the body. She turned to him, her face splattered with ether and dark purple blood.

"Let's crash it."

* * *

Tevis watched as the Ketch sped towards the field of blue-silver lava. With a flash, Silverhawk appeared before him, back turned, watching as it went down as well.

It hit.

It was magnificent, really. As it first splashed down, the ground shook, and the blue lava of Venus was sent high into the air, shining like a light sea made of stars. The heat got to the engines, and the whole thing began to explode magnificently, meteorites of blue and red, smoke and mist. Maybe, if one listened closely, they could hear the sounds of the hundreds of Fallen that had still been aboard dying.

With that, Draksis' legend was over. He'd made the fool mistake of coming out into the field, and now he had paid dearly for it. The explosion in and of itself would normally have caused most Hunters to go ballistic.

But her shoulders were shaking.

Tevis blinked, and put on his helmet, certain there were no rips or tears in his armor that could put him at risk. He strode over in the light of the explosion, and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, face streaked with tears. He hadn't seen her this upset in a long time…

She buried her face in his shoulder with a sob, and he wrapped his arms around her. He knew what it felt like, to nearly lose a part of yourself. To get lost in that anger that came from someone close nearly being ripped away from you.

"He's in a coma, Tevis." She cried. "That damn Winter Archon put Martin in a coma."

He closed his eyes. _Cayde is definitely going to kill me._

* * *

 **Man, the FEELS that came with that explosion...**

 **MaybeALittleBroken: I suggested the fluff. I hear you enjoyed it. Here, have an explosion and some more feels! *grins evilly***

 **fierywarlock: Try digging a tunnel with plastic spoons; that always works in movies.**

 **Guest(jsm): Well, isn't it a _fine_ day to forget to log in, mate? Glad you liked it. And are you talking about the 'strangulation' part, or the 'needing rescue breathing' part? I was going for big drama in that chapter.**

 **Guest: To Lyse, Sierra is weak. She isn't a proper Guardian, and is a risk factor. There's another reason she dislikes Sierra though... but we'll get to that later. And let's just say for Uldren's part, this little incident isn't one he'll forget when it comes to trusting Lyse. For all his faults, I think it's safe to say he's very protective of those under his command... even if they're Sierra.**

 **alienraptor: Glad you like the new platform! Colors are so much sharper, am I right?**

 **Callidus Grim:Oh, I've seen the trailer. My Hunter is actually based off of one of Amberstar's Pottertrek OCs, and, well, you saw what just happened to Draksis... No, Martin is very much not okay.**

 **Man, it was hard to do this. To Martin, I mean. But I had to do something with him at some point, and I can't play nice with you guys forever. Just a couple chapters more, the epilogue, and then it's on to part 2 of 15 Seconds. If you think _these_ feels are bad... boy, you ain't seen nothing yet.**

 **Also, here's to hoping 2017 isn't as boring as 2016! If you're just DONE with all the political bull from last year, no matter which side, say 'I', put on some sunglasses, and start sipping coconut smoothies on a sunny Hawii beach. I think evey political faction needs a massage and a few hot dogs, so they can feel like Americans again.**

 **Also, it was a lot of fun writing Tevis in this chapter. I didn't really get to experiment with his powers during that brief PoV in 15 Seconds, and I really wanted to play around with some Nightstalker powers. In-game, we see evidence of a lot of shots fired off his Dusk Bow, while our own Guardian is only able to manage three at a time. This tells us that Tevis was exceptionally powerful for a Nightstalker, and if he can fire thatmany shots, why not sharpen the edges of his bow and use it as a sword thing-y and go all 'Legolas' on everything?**

 **Ugh, now every time I write Tevis, I'm going to end up picturing him as an elf.**

 **Next Time: Uldren doesn't trust Lyse, and Petra knows Martin can hear her.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	12. Of Knights and Loosers

**Price Twins: "Stand and Fight" – Gothic Storm**

* * *

Was she a magnet for bad luck? Or was she just cursed?

He was _right there_. He was here, at the Reef. And yet whenever they were around each other, one was either unconscious or out of it, so it could be said they hadn't met at all, really, during the attack. Not properly, no 'hello's, or 'goodbye's.

Variks was effectively beating himself up about it. She didn't talk to him. Nobody did. He didn't want to be spoken to; he simply ignored everyone, in pursuit of information about Skolas. It had been three days. It had been three days, and he still wasn't awake.

There was internal damage. She hadn't heard the specifics, but when she'd gone to see him the night of the attack, after waking from her own… condition… her courage had failed her when she saw the endotracheal tube shoved down his throat. A session of surgery had corrected whatever was wrong with his lungs, now, though, so this time he simply had a mask strapped to his face.

They'd been able to save his arm, but only just. It was wrapped thick in bandages, and needed more surgery. They'd said something about head trauma, that that was why he'd gone under, that was why he was down, that he'd been barred from wakefulness, from reality.

But Petra _knew_ … she knew that some part of this Warlock was still awake, waiting patiently, bordly, for his body to be returned to his control. She knew he could hear her, could hear it all, with this piece of himself. That was why she was back, after all.

But looking at him, so small now, with that damn mask strapped to his face to he could breath, with those bandages wrapped around his chest so his rips didn't fall in on themselves, his arm wrapped in gauze and other things to hold it together… her courage was faltering again. Her feet were rooted to the spot, a meter or two away from his bed.

But there was something she needed to say, as much as it pained her. It had to be done, admitted, out loud, like confession. This needed to stop. And to do it in this way… it would hurt a little less than if she told it to his wakeful face.

She shut her eye, took a deep breath, and stepped forwards.

"Hello." She rasped. She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, that I didn't come to see you earlier. Faroth was fussing over me, and I… damnit, I couldn't see you like that. I can barely see you like _this_. Why did you go and try to be a damned hero?"

Her eye burned, and she blinked, fighting back tears. She took his good hand, cold and motionless in her own.

"Don't you get it?" she choked. "I told you to leave it to the rest of us, Martin. I _told_ you you'd done enough. You're supposed to be a genius, why did you go and do something so _stupid_? How would people feel if you'd gone and gotten killed?"

She took a deep, shaky breath, squeezing his hand, hoping above hope he could feel it.

"There are things in life we just can't have. We want them with all our hearts, and they can never be ours. After all this… damn it, maybe it's just some little crush, maybe I'm emotional because of Inigo, but I… I can't do this anymore. " the tears broke free. "I'm in love with you, Martin Anton. And you're one of the things I just can't have."

She ran a hand through his hair, the sandy-brown fluff messy even when he was unconscious. It almost made her laugh, it always seemed as if Martin's hair had a mind of its own.

"You know it's a little funny." She started, pausing to wipe her eye. "Every woman dreams of a knight in shining armor, a handsome prince, some noble adventurer to come and steal their heart. And then one day, life drops a self-proclaimed looser in front of me, and he's just a mess."

She let out a wet sort of laugh, her thumb stroking the back of his hand in neat circles.

"He's all covered in mud, and he's got these nerdy glasses. He can't talk worth Thrall spit, and he's got a _therapy cat_ in his arms! And it's very clear he likes me, he can't hid anything for Thrall spit either. But he's smart. He's got this freaky sister he does everything with. And I will admit, the glasses are… pretty cute, actually." She let out a wry chuckle. "Most men stare at my chest or my behind, but he seemed totally enthralled by my _nose_ , of all the things! How many times do you meet a man who appreciates a good nose?"

"The knights… they be heroes all the time. After a while, it comes to be nothing special when they do something amazing." She put her other hand on his, rubbing it with both, trying to warm it. "But then the looser does something spectacular… and it means something."

"I can't have you." She pulled her hands away, leaving his alone once more, even though her blood screamed at her to hold on again. "In a world where knights in shining armor are too common, life threw me a looser in tin foil, and I could have loved him to bits. I can't have you, Martin Anton. The Reef wouldn't let me."

"But if I could," she said as she reached out to brush his hair back, leaning down. She kissed him on the forehead, before pressing her own against it. "I would call you _my_ looser."

She looked up at the softly beeping monitor and choked back a sob, body shaking slightly. Some childish, dreamy part of her had thought that would wake him up.

Petra gathered herself, set her military face back where it belonged, and walked away. She cast one last tortured glance at him before walking out the door, and some might have heard a whispering of 'goodbye'.

* * *

She had woken up briefly earlier that morning, according to the doctors. It was a good sign; she would live to fight again another day. Hopefully, next time, he would actually get to see it happen when she was a full strength. He'd seen what she could do while wounded; he was curious what it would look like when she was surrounded and fresh to the fight.

As a Guardian, Rogers would recover quickly from her wounds, even though the wait for Human blood from the Vestian Outpost had been dangerously long. But… even after seeing her fight, Uldren still wasn't sure what to think about the mute.

Did he send her back? Did he keep her away from the front lines? Did he send her after Skolas personally? Did he save her for a special occasion, like if Tay came around? He couldn't decide.

On the one hand, she was _mute_ ; that was a _big_ problem. How was he supposed to talk to her? How was she supposed to pass on intelligence? Padfoot only solved part of the problem.

But on the other hand, he was willing to begrudgingly admit, she was a _damn_ good fighter.

But on a third hand… he was afraid to let her into the field. At first, he'd been grateful to Lyse, for healing his sister. _So_ grateful. Then… she'd refused to heal her own comrade, and the gratefulness had been thrown completely out the window. It had been replaced with distrust.

Could he really consider himself a responsible commander if he sent Rogers out after Skolas, with only Lyse as her backup? If any of their missions went the same way the last battle had, then Rogers wouldn't make it back alive, that was for certain.

He could see her now. That Warlock. He sat in the waiting room for the Vesta hospital. He had… a lot of Crows to visit. Too many. Some of them… he might not see them after this. This was it for them. And it hurt, _damn_ it hurt.

These were his people. They looked to him for leadership, and he'd let them all down. The last time he'd felt anything like this grief was the day his father died.

He glared at Lyse from the shadows. How many of his Crows could she have saved? Could she still save them? Could she still help Rogers? If she was willing to betray one of her own comrades like that, who else might she hurt?

He wasn't going to ask, and quite frankly, he didn't care. He'd scoured Crow headquarters, and among the Awoken corpses had found hundreds of dead drones as well. His network had been effectively crippled, for the next three years, at least. He shut his eyes, brow still creased angrily, tipping his head back against the wall.

 _What would you do father? If this happened in your time, what would you do? How do I set this right? Where do I even start to rebuilt?_

He knew what Avar's answer to that last one would be. He'd asked his father that one once before.

"With yourself." he'd answered. "Then you prioritize."

He took a few deep breaths. He opened his eyes. _Alright, father._ He turned his head to glare at Lyse again, the Sunsinger watching, simply watching the Awoken people around her with no soul in her eyes.

 _Priority one:_

 **Don't trust Lyse.**

* * *

 **Well, here we are; a bit short, but I like to think the emotions charging it make up for that a little. *sigh* Why must politics get in the way of our favorite ships? If she were a peasant, it wouldn't be a problem, but NOPE, she's a dignitary with a past of killing Guardians(albeit by accident).**

 **jsm1978: Yeah, if I were ever to kill her off for real, I don't think it would be like that. She'd go down in a hailstorm of bullets, or by driving a Ketch into the sun while riding a walrus named Stanley(WHATTEHHECK!?). Yes, my personal headcanon is that the Vanguard were idiots for sending your newbie Guardian after Oryx and not a butt-kicker on Tevis' level. He probably could have gotten Crota's soul without the stealth tech, even. I mean, in game, he only mentioned his bow, no other weapons, so we know he was good enough that that was al he needed in order to hold up against the many large piles of Vex we found.**

 **Order and Chaos: My theory behind that is that while they don't take a whole lot seriously(well a lot of them, anyway), Hunters place a high priority on revenge. Just look at Vermillion Stripe, Hard Case Cloak, ect. When Cayde ask's the player to avenge Tevis, who's Bow is still active, still resonating with Tevis' Light, he's asking them to carry out something that equates to sacred in the Hunter world. Similar things go for the other subclass quests; the Warlock has finally found the ultimate power that they saute, and the Titan has reclaimed the fire of the City. As for his skill in this continuity... I'ma use the same lame excuse everybody else does and say 'real-time holograms based on the Guardian's vitals and movement as projected by their Ghosts'. That, and there was that year after Brask died, when his acid wound were healing and little Andal was born; what else is a vengeful Hunter supposed to do with so much free time?**

 **Well, I decided to post this chappy early in lue of how short it is. I'm not TOO proud of it, and and I think Amberstar's short-chapter-itis is rubbing off on me. Petra is overemotional, Variks is guilty, Rogers is beat up, Martin's in a coma, Uldren is angry, and Lyse just _does not care_. Next chapter will hopefully lighten the mood, take care of some of that, but there is definitely going to be a lot of friction between these characters as we move on in 15 Seconds.**

 **And all the while, Twilight approaches ever closer. And I'm going to do my best to break your wee hearts. Taken King is going to seem dull after this, folks...**

 **Next Time: Martin is hungry, very hungry, Variks is still guilty, Rogers can stay... and far, far away... a pair of eyes opens...**

 **Cheers!^^**


	13. Of Amends and Choosing Sides

**The Reef: "So Silent"- Zach Hemsey**

* * *

They were still wrapping up local hunts. It had been five days now. Martin still wasn't awake, and as soon as soon as the patrols had mapped out where the majority of new Fallen piracy threats were, an armed medical escort would transfer him to the Last City.

Armed, because now that the Wolves were free, Fallen pirate numbers had skyrocketed. A lone ship was too easy a target. A few other Guardians had been sent to the Reef to help them clean up, mostly Titans and a few Warlocks from Lyse's order, who were much more helpful than their sister-in-arms, who was nowhere to be seen for any of it.

Rogers had been severely injured during the assault, but would pull through. Unlike Martin, however, she was staying at the Reef. Uldren had decided to keep her, despite the disability that had come to light. Petra still wasn't certain what to think. One rarely saw Reefborns with disabilities, she supposed it had to do with the environmental clash of where they lived.

To live your life without a voice… She couldn't even fathom it. All the unspoken words would pound at her insides, she felt like she might spend her days screaming just to make herself heard if she were mute.

In a way, however, she felt an odd sort of kinship with Rogers' dilemma; she herself was missing an eye. When it had first happened… she'd felt like the world was falling apart. Her depth perception permanently fussed up, she'd kept walking into walls by accident. Her aim had been thrown off entirely, and she'd spent hours and days and months and _years_ training to work around the problem. Then there was always her gigantic blind spot(though she'd developed a few techniques to get around that as well).

They were both warriors that had to work around a lot of extra problems in order to get what they wanted, both solders that had to fight twice as hard for the respect they deserved. She couldn't tell if Rogers had earned Prince Uldren's respect yet.

What she could tell, was that he was tremendously angry with Lyse, wherever the Warlock had hidden herself away to. He had debriefed her and Variks alone on what had happened in the throne room. Even now, as she stood at her post at Vestian's docks, reading over the newest damage reports, she felt a shudder slip up her spine as she remembered how apoplectic he'd been.

The Prince had his faults. Loyalty to those under his command was not one of them. Nothing upset him more than loosing people, especially those directly under his command. She wholeheartedly believed that if a Crow was in danger of dying protecting the Prince, Uldren would get up in front of that Crow and take several bullets for him. He organized every operation to minimize casualties as much as possible.

She still remembered the reports about him demolishing a small Cabal fleet with his powers in a mental temper tantrum when he was told he was about to lose no less than fifty Crows.

So to Uldren, to witness the death of over half his operations, and then watch Lyse refuse to heal Rogers, was the ultimate betrayal.

"Not sure if Awoken can have blood-rage," Variks had said as they left the war room," but certainly will keep eye on Prince, yes?"

The scribe had opened up a little about his guilt over what happened to Martin. It had surprised her how much he actually cared for the Warlock. Martin was not just another in a long list of 'allies'; Variks considered him a true friend, and he felt as if he'd failed miserably in being a friend back.

She wasn't as mad at him as she thought she would be. And despite it all… his genuine distress over Martin's injuries had managed to finally cement something called trust, at last.

She trusted Variks.

She looked over the area with her one eye. Everything was a bit more tattered than it had been. Finalizing construction efforts had been put on hold until the main outpost was restored completely. It would hopefully be back in order by the time Rogers was fully healed. She'd been shocked to learn that Rogers wounds, while for most people would have taken over a month to heal right, would only take her two weeks to recover to the point where she could manage light duties.

She had equally shocked to hear Martin's injuries would only take a month at most to recover from, though his arm would need a little extra rest to recover from its violent near-amputation. _That is, assuming he wakes up from his coma…_ Her throat tightened as she remembered her visit the other day.

For all their remarkable healing abilities, there was nothing a Guardian's Light could do to help them pull out of a coma. That was something time had to do.

It was if her thoughts had summoned the occurrence.

Variks burst out of his tent with a howl, running for the med bay like he was possessed. Startled, she nearly jumped out of her skin, and leaned out to watch him, bewildered by his behavior.

"Variks, what's going on?" She yelled after him.

"He is awake!" the scribe called in excited response, not looking over his shoulder, and not slowing down. Immediately, it was like something had pierced her through and through. She longed to do nothing more than scream and run after him, to get there first and throw her arms around the Warlock, to tell Martin how stupid and wonderful he was and how much she—

 _Stop._ She shut her eye with a small shake of her head. She had to keep her distance. As long as she did that, it wouldn't be so hard. One of these days, he was going to make a very special woman very happy. Petra couldn't be that woman, not for him; between the politics and her past, the Emissary getting together with a 'wimpy Human Warlock' could not only be bad press, but the fallout from such an arrangement could be disastrous, even deadly.

A few generations back in the royal line, one young prince had fallen hopelessly head-over-heels for a Human Guardian of the Last City. Upon the rest of the Reef finding out, there had been many times where people tried to execute them. After one particularly close call, both had run away into the wilds together.

A week or so later, the woman's body was found, and the prince, aggrieved, was discovered to have put a bullet in his mouth. This was the warning story that everyone of high-ranking blood was told.

As much as she wanted Martin… She shook her head.

 _No._ She would _not_ be caught re-enacting the tale of The Prince And The Hunter.

* * *

Variks forgot his excitement as he skid to a halt at the door. His heart pounded in his chest, and his hand hesitated to open the door to the med bay. The guilt that had been writhing and roiling inside of him for the past several days had finally managed to push its way through to squash his excitement.

 _Still my fault…_ Martin was awake at last, but that didn't necessarily make things better. Variks had let a friend put himself in danger, when he knew that friend was already hurt. What kind of friend let that happen? Variks did not deserve to keep that friendship.

 _Should leave… would be simpler to do so…_ There was a smell of Human food that he could pick up through the door. The IV would have put the needed nutrients directly into Martin's bloodstream, but it would make sense that the first thing the Warlock wanted to do was to eat.

"Peppermint! No! Bad kitty!" a familiar yell came muffled from behind the door. Variks couldn't take it any longer. Tentatively, he opened it just a bit, poking his head through.

"Variks! Get her! Don't let her get away!" Martin yelled from where he lay, sitting upright with a plate in his lap. The scribe looked down just in time to see a streak of white bolting its way towards him. He quickly jumped into the room, shutting the door behind him. The white feline was dragging half a waffle around with it.

He lunged, and tried to grab the cat, but she swerved out of the way, dodging between his legs with an enraged hiss that was muffled by the waffle in her mouth. He jumped to his feet as the animal dashed around him, and lunged, throwing himself at her.

He managed to catch her tail with one upper hand, and Peppermint dropped the waffle to let out a yowl of fury, twisting to claw at his metal limb. He quickly used his other upper hand to grab her by the scruff of her neck, lifting her as she twisted and claws at his hand in vain, yowling so that the ward sounded like the gates of hell had been opened within it.

" _Shanak!"_ he growled. "This creature is evil!"

"So says every other person I meet." Martin rolled his eyes as the scribe approached with the angry animal. He narrowed his eyes at her, waving a finger. "Bad Peppermint! Very bad kitty! You aren't getting fish treats later, you stop this hissy fit right now!"

Several of the other patients had woken, and were giving bewildered looks at the trio, Faroth poking his head in from his office with a scowl.

"Could you please, shut that thing up! These people need their sleep!" he yelled. Variks yelped as one of Peppermint's kicks found its mark, letting go of her by instinct. With a final yowl of anger, she dashed off, picking up the waffle as she went and disappearing beneath a bed.

"I swear that cat is born of the darkness…" Martin muttered. He gestured hopelessly to the plate on his lap. "My first meal in days, and she has to go and steal the last of it!"

His arm was still in a cast and sling, and he was wearing a nasal cannula in replacement of the mask that had been there. Variks could see the bandages peaking from the collar of the Warlock's shirt, and his eyes had a heavy squint to them due to lack of his glasses. The plate was still covered in syrup, and the air still smelled heavily of waffles.

Variks shifted his weight, uncertain of what to say, where to begin. Part of him wanted to burst out laughing, because of Peppermint. Part of him was afraid this was the wrong thing to do. For a few moments the two of them just sat there, looking at each other. Variks twisted a scrap of his tunic in his lower hands and Martin chewed on his bottom lip some.

Martin was the first to crack up. He gave a sort of snort/wheeze combination of a laugh, and Variks followed, until they were thoroughly hysterical. The Warlock's laughter was infectious; Martin had a way of doing that to people. If he laughed, so did you. If he got excited, then you became just as ecstatic. If he felt the lowest of the low, you would sink yourself to his level just so you could try and tug him back up again.

It felt good to laugh again.

* * *

The first thing she was aware of, was a beeping noise. Constant, steady.

 _BEYOND_ annoying.

She groaned in irritation, trying to lift her arm, bringing it down where the alarm should have been. Unless it was Padfoot messing with her again. She felt nothing.

Yup. It was Padfoot.

The second thing she was aware of, the beeping got louder as she got more and more irritated, as if it were mocking her! _Ugh, you are so going to_ pay _, you little troll!_

It was bad enough she had to deal with all that stuff in the Reef, the last thing she needed was—

Beeping. The Reef. Bleeding, the throne room, choking, everything fading away…

She tried to reach for her knives. Her knives, she needed her knives. If she had a handle in her hands, she was safe, if she had a handle in her hands, she was real, she was alive.

All she felt was bare skin and hospital threads.

She forced her eyes open, awareness slowly fading back to her. That annoying, accursed beeping? It was the monitor, tracking her heartbeat, her awareness. There was an oxygen mask over her face, and everything was bleary. She could hardly remember waking up before this, so she supposed the doctors had been keeping her out of it until now.

Her throat still hurt, and when she lifted one hand to weakly feel the skin on her neck, she felt a line of rawness from where the cable had rubbed and dug in. Her shoulder still hurt, though not as much. She felt dull pain in her leg, and in all the other various lacerations and bruises she'd claimed for herself over the course of that day's battle.

"Sierra?" a familiar voice asked. She looked around, vision still blurry. "Sierra!"

A small, gale-force brown form slammed into her chest as she tried to sit up, and she looked down to see her ever-faithful Padfoot nuzzling her neck. She could _feel_ her eyes brighten, and she brought up a hand to rub his shell affectionately. He zoomed up, orbiting her head excitedly, clicking and whirring.

"Do you know how _worried_ I've been!? By the Light, I thought you were gone for good this time!" he exclaimed, stopping to hover eye-level with her. "Never do that again, you hear me? _Ever_!"

 _"_ _No promises."_ She signed with a smirk. It actually felt… _good_ to talk again, without fearing discovery. No doubt, almost everybody knew by now. She couldn't possibly do any more harm by using sign language now; she would be home at the Tower in no time, now that Uldren knew. He probably wanted her gone, he would probably exchange her for someone he could communicate with.

"You know, it may actually be a little awkward, hearing only half a conversation every time you converse with each other." Her blood went cold. Her head snapped in the direction of the voice, causing a slight wave of dizziness.

Prince Uldren was leaning against the doorway, looking… defeated, in a way. She wondered what kind of damage the Crows had taken, aside from what she'd already seen. There was a cut healing across one cheek, and he looked even more tired than he had when she'd met him.

"What do _you_ want?" Padfoot asked coldly, shell twisting. It was obvious her Ghost did not hold him in friendly regards.

"I've been checking in frequently with you, Rogers. Might as well, while I watch half my Crows die in their hospital beds, and write letters to the families of the other half." The Prince said, getting off the doorway and walking across the room to stand at the window with his back turned towards her.

 _"_ _I didn't think you would concern yourself with a mute."_ She signed, after tapping Padfoot on his shell to catch his attention. It was hard, coordinating her hands so soon after waking up, let alone following a conversation, but she found she could manage. Padfoot passed along the message.

When the Ghost finished speaking, he stood there silently, lowering his head, tipping it slightly. "Like I said, I've nothing better to do. And like it or not, I need solders."

Padfoot's shell clicked in curiosity, and Sierra raised an eyebrow. _That's… interesting._ Uldren took a deep breath, still not facing her.

"In a single day, the House of Wolves has crippled the Reef. My network is in ruins. My drones, not just live scouts, have endured a 60% loss. Live scouts? 75%. It will take me… years, to build them all back up again. That's not even accounting for all the guards who were killed, the nobles that lost their lives, the damage to our infrastructure, the entire Web, thrown into disarray. Pirates are certainly taking advantage, and though we managed to kill a majority of the inside forces, nearly fifty percent of them escaped to join the reborn House, and we're still righting holdouts." He turned, starting to pace at the foot of her bed. She and Padfoot watched silently as he went on.

"Raids on travelling ships have spiked. What few Crows I have out there are reporting Guardian ships getting attacked. "he scoffed. "I had to order them to the City, to make contact with the Hidden to secure safe transport back to the Reef. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to ask a rival spy network for help?"

"We wouldn't know. We aren't spies. Is there a point to this? Are you saying we can't go back to the Tower without a fighter escort?" Padfoot asked. Uldren stopped pacing looking at them with intense golden eyes. They seemed to study her, pick her apart, their glow softly illuminating his face by a fraction. It was odd; before Uldren, she'd never met an Awoken with golden eyes before. Orange, red, occasionally yellow, but never true gold like his. According to Padfoot, it was a trait unique only to the Awoken royal line.

"Nobody ever said anything about going back to the Tower." He said, much to her surprise. She tapped Padfoot.

 _"_ _Every time a fireteam finds out about my muteness, they all end up sending me back eventually. What makes you any different? I could see that you despise me for my weakness. I could tell, and you practically said it yourself, that you wanted a different Guardian. You'll send me back like all the others, and I can continue on as I was."_ She was swift with her movements. She'd learned to sign fast; in the heat of combat every second counted… even if she failed to be fast enough, in the end.

Uldren blinked as Padfoot, finished translating for her, still studying her.

"I need solders. Like I said, my network is crippled. I have minimal time, and minimal options. The Reef will be back in general working order enough to organize attacks in a few weeks' time; I need assaults against Skolas and his forces ASAP, and the Wolves already will have spread word about _you_." She felt dizzy again. Was she hearing what she thought she was hearing? Uldren moved towards the door, stopping beneath the frame, looking back slightly at her, face hardened, as if daring her.

"I've seen you fight wounded. Now, show me what you can do fresh to a fight. Heal fast, Rogers; we need you at 100%." With that he left, leaving her laying there with jaw agape. Padfoot, eventually, voiced exactly what she was thinking.

"Well… that was unexpected."

* * *

"I… did not know that Darkness made you ill." Variks said slowly, processing what he'd been told. Having confessed his guilt over what had happened, the Warlock had explained to him that the poor health he'd experienced during his task had not been a result of the shock, but of exposure to the Darkness within the creatures held in the Prison.

"Usually, it's not so bad. Having other Guardians around usually helps with Darkness-induced nausea, and I'm always with Silverhawk, so I've never been hit that bad before. I guess it just slipped my mind, I was so bent on helping…" the young Human bowed his head. "I-I'm sorry for putting you in that position, Variks. Especially with what happened before with your Housemates…"

"And I am sorry for not stopping you from being a fool." At this, Martin looked up. "You say that is your duty to Silverhawk, yes? I surmised this to be a duty friends owe to each other; one that I failed."

Martin offered him a dry smile. "I suppose we both kind of messed up on this one, didn't we?"

"Yes, I suppose we did." The scribe nodded. He sat on the edge of Martin's bed, enjoying the last few hours he would have with his friend before he was transferred to the City. What did the Humans call it? 'Making amends'? It felt good, talking with him. Just talking. He could almost forget he was the last of his House, almost forget the terrible things that had happened. In a way he felt… _healed_.

He was starting to get the point of this whole 'friendship' deal. And he found that he liked it, very much so. _Now, if only to find way to rid him of his fear of courting Petra…_

The two were hopelessly attracted to each other; he could smell the hormones a mile away, and then there was that funny thing Martin did, where his face changed color. What _was_ that anyway? Did Human males change the color of their skin to attract females, or was it a way of communicating with fellow Humans that Variks didn't know about just yet?

He was tempted to ask. So, he did.

"Martin, have noticed your face changes color whenever Petra is around. Tell me… is this a Human courting ritual of some sort?"

The Warlock made a sort of strangled squeaking noise.

* * *

Lyse stood, watching, simply watching, the Reef. The people.

The Prince. His sister. The Prince, who now looked so remarkably like his father, that the first time she'd caught sight of him she'd thought him to be King Avar back from the dead. Same eyes, same face.

Much different attitude. Avar had been kinder, though with the same determination, the same protectiveness of his family. Though in Uldren, it came out as possessiveness, it came as bull-headed arrogance.

He would not have been able to make the same, very difficult decisions Avar had made to protect his family, and the Reef. There had been times she had wondered if it was worth his death to keep these secrets; if it was worth waiting all this time. Sometimes, she forgot that they barely knew who the real enemy was. Sometimes, she just wanted to scream all the secrets to the world, and let the world sort out its own problems.

Then, she would remember that until she knew who exactly she was fighting, then later, until she knew exactly where he was, there was no point. All blurting out the secrets would accomplish, was getting people killed.

"He needs to choose a side." Foxtrot said, hovering at her shoulder as they observed the Prince, making his way to another set of rooms, another dying Crow. She nodded, closing her eyes.

"Or else he'll be caught in the middle." She agreed. The crowds. The people. They had no idea what was coming, did they? What had happened, all those years ago?

"For the middle is where we die." Her Ghost finished. He dematerialized, and she opened her eyes.

 _The middle is where I finally end._

* * *

Meanwhile, many planets away, there was a room beneath a mountain. Medical monitors beeped. A form lay in a bed, unmoving. In a coma.

…or so several were led to believe.

Meanwhile, many planets away, far beneath a mountain…

A pair of glowing teal eyes opened.

"Tell Della…" he murmured softly, voice like silk running through one's fingers, speaking to the cameras and comm hidden in the room, "…to prepare. We move in several months' time. I grant her three to find Ashraven's compass."

And Humanity, would be carried into glory.

No matter how much blood was shed to do it.

* * *

 **Annnnnd... CUE THE DRAMATIC CLIFFHANGAR!**

 **Order and Chaos: I usually just put music that I think fits certain things; they don't always necessarily correspond with the contents of the chapter. Reminds me; I changed the theme for Martin, in the prologue. Found one that suited him more. Alright then... heh. And I'm glad you like my theory!^^ Not much else to say, my brain is slow this morning.**

 **jsm1978: A little bit, maybe.**

 **Guest(#1): Well, I felt guilty about that chapter being so short, so I posted it early to make up for it. No, Taken King with happen after the Brask/Ashraven plot is resolved, in Twilight. Right now, we're just warming up, getting slowly to a running start. We'll have explosions, little Andal, and some kicker Saladin feels, to name a few, when we really get things started on that.**

 **Guest(#2): When he's sleepy, of course!**

 **Furious Titan: Not really sure how to respond to that. What, exactly, is so funny about poor Martin being in a coma?**

 **Oh, me, oh, my! Della Tay is entering the game again! Last time we saw our favorite, cuddly assassin, she was getting her eye ripped out by one of Uldren's Crows! Will she get her revenge? Or will Sierra Rogers totally kick. Her. _Butt_.**

 **Find out next time, on the Dysfunctional fireteam(no this does not necessarily mean we will get a Rogers/Tay showdown in the next chapter or any chapters in the earliest future Jayfeattheris Awesome can and will not be held accountable for fan raging thank you for reading and have a wonderful day)!**

 **So... big things coming up, big things. Anniversary of Fever on March the 4th. 15 seconds: Part 2. Twilight soon afterwards. Dramatic plot progression. Martin's quest for a deathtouch cure. Certain death, yiddi-yadda, yiddi-yadda, yiddi-yadda. Not really sure about the epilogue next chapter. Doesn't feel... _mysterious_ enough for me.**

 **But, it _is_ the epilogue, and it's all yours! Maybe I'll post it this week, or weekend, maybe even tomorrow if I'm feeling restless enough, so be sure to get your reviews in while you can. That being said, I still need to decide on the intermission one-shot for Wolfsbane-15 Seconds: Part 2. **

**What do you think?**

 **A) Sierra and Padfoot early days feels fluff.**

 **B) Shiro-4 directly after the Ridge incident of 15 Second: chapter 9.**

 **A would give you some nice, fluffy, feels-y background on our two newest arrivals, and even if you don't choose B, it will probably end up being written anyway later as the intermission for 15 Seconds-Twilight, or 15 Seconds-Nevermore-**

 **Oh, wait.**

 **I've never mentioned Nevermore before now, have I? Whoops. *shrugs, with evil grin***

 **I'm not going to say anything about that installment for now. Except that... the kiddie gloves are coming off. COMPLETELY.**

 **Anyway, vote up on that intermission, and start hypeing for 15 Seconds: part 2! And SOMEONE pull Amberstar off her butt and prod her with a stick or something! Unfinished wiki pages are my mortal enemy, and she's left the fanon pages for the DF Universe unchecked. She hasn't even started on Uldren yet and I'm four fics in! WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!*sucks thumb***

 **Next Time: Avar is asked for help, and thus the secrets begin.**

 **Cheers!^^**


	14. Of Mistakes and Flames

**Saladin: "Knights and Lords" – Audiomachine**

* * *

Avar watched as his son threw another knife. Uldren had become obsessed. Convinced that he would be the one to kill Della Tay; to bring justice for his mother. Avar sighed. _What do I do with him, Kyra? You were always so much better at this than I..._

The last six years had been hard. _Very_ hard. He had Crows tracking for signs of Tay at every moment of every day. Who knew a young girl could be so dangerous? So delusional? So... disgusting.

Another knife. The 19-year-old Prince went forwards, removed the blade from the bullseye, and went back to the throwing station, preparing to toss it again, determination etched into his features. Determination to become the deadliest Crow Reef history had ever seen.

Determination to put that knife through Della Tay's forehead. Suddenly, Avar didn't feel safe. His instincts screamed at him to get out, get Uldren, get him to safety. He reached for his knife, but it was jerked out of his grip in an instant. He felt something slim and sharp pressed against the side of his neck.

"Don't react." She told him. Uldren threw his knife again, and hit the outer rim. He swore. "Don't even think about using those powers you royals have; I'll notice if your eyes start to glow. And I have three snipers trained on that kid's head right now, so if you know what's good for him, you'll do as I say."

 _Tay._ This... had to be her people. Who else could it be?

"Leave the compartment. Tell him you're going for the restroom." he clicked the speakers.

"Uldren, hold up; I overdid it on that meatloaf your sister forced on us last night. Remind me to petition for a better cook." The Prince regarded his father with a nod, and went back to practicing. Avar turned and left the room, well aware of the knife trained on his neck the whole time.

 _You'll pay for this._ He silently vowed in anger. _For Kyra. You will not harm my son!_

"Into the closet, left side." she ordered quietly. If he was fast enough, he could turn her knife on her and silence her before she could signal the snipers. He could warn Uldren with his powers, get him out of the line of fire.

Avar obeyed, and the door shut behind them.

"Now-" he whirled, jerking the knife out of her hand and stabbing it up her stomach. She made a strangled choking noise, and he twisted the blade cruely, eyes burning. She was wearing a helmet, but he hoped she saw the promise of vengeance in his gaze. He jerked the knife out, and let her fall to the floor, choking and gasping.

His eyes widened at the flash of little light that appeared in the air.

"You _idiot_! She was bluffing! We just wanted to talk!" The Ghost yelled at him angrily. _A Guardian!? What's going on here!? Bluffing!_

Horror crashed into him as he realized what he may have just done. He crouched down next to her, pulling the helmet off of her head. She wore robes, and a bond on her arm marked her as a Warlock. Her face was Awoken, with a sickle-like black slash below her left eye. She coughed and choked, blood trickling down her face from the corner of her mouth.

He rolled her over onto her back, and gripped her head, tilting her chin up to try and help her breath. Her hair was a dark color, and she looked to be around the same age as Uldren. Her eyes were orange, or maybe red, but they were so dim with approaching death, he couldn't tell. _No, no, no!_ What had just happened? He gripped one of her hands in his own, using his free hand to try and cover the wound he'd caused.

"I'm sorry!" he told her, horror thrumming through him. What was this? Some kind of discrete contact with the Crows gone horribly wrong? A piece of information so sensitive, it warranted a fake death threat?

"Hey, focus!" the Ghost begged its owner. "Remember what he taught you? What he said you could do? _Try_! Just try!"

Her gasps grew weaker, the little robot hung low near her side. Suddenly, a strange light leaked from her very skin, the color of fire. Actually... it _was_ fire! He tried to let go of her hand instinctively, but her fingers were clenched around his in a death grip of sorts. She shuddered violently, a whimper escaping her lips. The area around the wound glowed hot, and he moved his hand to see her flesh knitting itself back together.

The hand that gripped hers felt unnaturally warm, and he felt as if something bright was passing through his very being, erasing every sore and hurt he'd ever had. All the sudden, the ache in his back seemed to disappear, as did the stiffness in his shoulders. This had to be some sort of Warlock power; he'd heard tales... tales of Guardian's who sang of the sun's flames.

The fire faded from her, and she took in a shuddering gasp, coughing.

"Hey! Easy, breath, take deep breaths." he told her. "I'm going to call a med team in here."

"N-no!" she gasped, gripping him by the collar as he reached up to the comm set on his ear.

"Whatever light magic you just did, I don't think it did the whole trick; you _need_ a doctor." he insisted. She grabbed his wrist, eyes pleading as they very slowly began to glow with life again.

"P-please." she choked out. "I need your help."

* * *

 **WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHOOOOOO! Fic #3, FINISHED! At the beginning of last year, you know, I never saw myself finishing ONE fan fiction, let alone 3, in record time! I posted this chapter early in celebration of getting a whole freaking week off of school, thanks to snow days and MLK Jr. Day. I just want you guys to know your continued support has been AMAZING. From Fever, to this... just thanks, guys.**

 **jsm1978: Yup. These fics aren't really that long(chapter-wise). I tried hard to make this a little longer than Heartbusters, though. Hint; that last guy will blow your mind.**

 **fierywarlock: I find logic to only work in theory; there really is no logic to the concept.**

 **Furious Titan: Oh, good. Hey, she likes her geeks. Don't judge her, LoL.**

 **alienraptor: Some people(*cough*Order and Chaos*cough*) have been lobbying Martenj since it was founded in Fever as a little crush. Amberstar actually CHEERED when she beta-read the scene where 'Inigo' kisses Petra. And that kell was facing a surprise attack from a veteran Nightstalker and an angry Bladedancer-a very angry Bladedancer. It's no small wonder he died quickly.**

 **Okay, so no votes on the intermission then? Padfoot and Sierra it is, then. I'll get to work on it.**

 **Well, here we are. This is where we embark on a tale of friendship, betrayal, romance, and, most importantly of all, waffles. Fever, through Wolfsbane, has brought to you all a mixture of humor, emotional outbursts, and multiple violent explosions. I've enjoyed writing every word of it, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it just as much.**

 **That being said, I really should think of something special for the Fever anniversary. It's likely the series will be finished by the time March 4 comes around next year, so I really ought to make it count. Suggestions are appreciated. Maybe an art contest? No, this is a cult favorite; not enough people for an art contest to be viable...**

 **Anywho, I'm hoping to really expand upon past things in 15 Seconds: Part 2. We'll be seeing Ryan again(of course), and though I said we wouldn't be seeing Tevis' son again until Twilight... well, I can't resist putting a little bit of tiny Andal in. The little guy's adorable, I think you're going to love him. And then we've got the lice problem, and Sierra and Uldren. Already we have a small wave of Sovgers shippers ready for combat, heavily trying to... ahem, "encourage" Uldren to be nicer(and by that, I mean threatening to punch him into orbit).  
**

 **Don't you worry; I have a way to make him be nicer almost instantly...**

 **Take some time to prepare yourselves emotionally as I stockpile some chapters for Part 2. We'll still see some Silverhawk antics(when she's not busy fussing over her nerd), but we'll also be continuing our foray into a more serious tone. That being said, you might not see chapter 13 until next month; I'm going to be busy. And I have a senior project to work on, as well.**

 **I also have to prepare Amberstar emotionally for all the things she's about to read.**

 **Also, snow. Very much snow. There is a lot of snow outside. The last time I saw this much snow was when I was 7.**

 **Ooo-rah.**

 **Anyway, thanks again for reading this, reviewing, favoriting, following, and fangirling. I'm going to make myself a cup of hot cocoa.**

 **And, for the last time ever on Wolfsbane...**

 **Cheers!^^**


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